


Beneath The Winter Moon

by AidansQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sansa is aged up, The Land of Always Winter, White Walkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidansQueen/pseuds/AidansQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wilds beyond the wall she searches for him, her last hope and her lost family. Yet in the Land of Always Winter, things are never what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beyond the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey everybody! So this story all began while I was reading George Martin's story, The Ice Dragon. It gave me the inspiration for this story and I hope you all enjoy it. It's also set just after Theon and Sansa jump from the wall at Winterfell and escape into the woods. Instead of Brianne finding them, they run for the wall in search of Jon instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to George Martin and those who created Game of Thrones.

Sansa Stark has known great sorrow in her life. She suffered the loss of her siblings, her parents and finally her home. She’s been through two husbands, the first of which was good to her and everything was fine up until they were accused of murder and had to flee Kings Landing to save both their lives. The second was Ramsay Bolton who raped and abused her, and she fled with Theon Greyjoy through the cold of winter just to escape him.

               Now they wander together alone in the wilderness, far from the warm walls of Winterfell and the usurpers who’ve taken it from her. Ever since the words _it wasn’t Bran and Rickon_ came out of Theon’s mouth, Sansa’s been bent on going to the wall.  Theon had his theories about where they went, but something he kept hearing repeated through the rumors that passed through Winterfell was that Bran and Rickon had gone beyond the wall.

Part of Theon sorely wishes he hadn’t told her that now.

It was the only thing she could think about, finding Bran and Rickon. It was her sole focus, that and not freezing to death in the snow. Both of them are shivering with cold as they walk the old snow covered road towards the wall. Jon is their last hope now, Jon who is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. If she told Jon that Bran and Rickon had gone beyond the wall, he’d send a range out for them. Jon could give them sanctuary from Ramsay Bolton and his Father; he could give them a warm bed to sleep in and a roof over their heads.

 

* * *

 

               In Moles town, they’re shivering and half frozen as they numbly stagger into one of the many inns. They drop down by a fire place and warm themselves, shaking the cold from their bones. Sansa is careful to keep her hood up, afraid that someone will recognize her. They have no money and no means to buy food or drink, so they plan to warm up before finishing the long trek to Castle Black. Someone was bound to be awake there and could easily call Jon down to meet them once they arrived.

“Evening Jimmy,” the barkeep says behind Sansa, and as she glances back she spots one of the men belonging to the Night’s watch, dropping down on a barstool as he orders as drink.

“Long night really,” Jimmy croaks with a sigh, “we buried one of our own today.”

“Oh?” the barkeep asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh aye,” Jimmy nods, “Our very own Lord Commander, murdered right out there in the snow.”

Sansa stiffens at the words, and Theon eases his hand over her shaking ones, steadying her. If she made a scene they would recognize her, and they couldn’t risk that. Sansa listens intently to what Jimmy has to say, despair stealing her heart.

“It was Mutiny wasn’t it? But he had it coming I suppose…helping them wildlings.” Jimmy sighs as he finishes his drink, “See you another night yeah?”

“See you,” the barkeep waves as Jimmy stands and heads out.

“Sansa,” Theon says quietly, “We have to turn back.”

“We have nowhere else to go Theon,” Sansa replies quietly as she stands, unclasping her one and only good gown. Sliding it off her shoulders she neatly folds it, smoothing the expensive brocade material before handing it to Theon. Then at last, she looks down at her left hand and gently slides off the simple gold ring Ramsay gave to her when they were wed. She was glad to be rid of it, she wanted nothing to remind her of Ramsay Bolton.

“Sansa _no_ ,” Theon stammers as she hands him the gown and the ring, staring at them and then at her, standing only in her linen under gown, wrapped in her cloak. 

“They’ll fetch a price Theon,” Sansa says softly, “we need supplies if we are to go beyond the wall alone. Go and sell them. We’ll die out here without supplies Theon; we need furs and shelter for the night. It’ll be cold out there.”

“You can’t be serious,” Theon gasps, staring at her, “You want to go out there alone?”

“I do,” she replies quietly, staring at her pale cold hands, “I have to find Bran and Rickon. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” She can’t explain what madness would drive her to do this save for the fact that she would suffer the cold of the long night a thousand times over just to see Bran’s smiling face again. To hear Rickon’s laughter, to watch him run through the courtyard of Winterfell with Shaggy dog running along behind him again.

“I go where you go,” Theon tells her softly, “just stay here while I go and get our things.”

Sansa nods as he leaves, and he’s gone a long while. She wonders if he’s run off, left her in that inn alone while he runs back to Winterfell to tell Ramsay where she’s hiding. Finally he returns, and he’s carrying furs and canvas for a tent along with salted beef and water skins.

“It’s not much,” Theon tells her softly, “but it’ll do for now,” then he pulls a heavy tawny colored linen gown out from under the furs, “I bought you this too…it’s got a hood so you can keep the cold off your face.”

Gratefully Sansa takes it and slips it on over her head, relieved to have some kind of proper clothing on once more. Giving up the very gown she wore was hard to do, but it had to be done. They wait till the snow outside lets up before they leave, hoods drawn low over their faces and the furs slung over their shoulders to fight off the chill of the cold winter snow outside. Theon carries most of their supplies, food and camping equipment all packed as neatly as he could manage in a canvas bag. He was frightened by what Sansa wanted to do but refused to let her go alone. There was a kind of madness gripping her, he just hoped that she would see reason before long and turn back.

 

* * *

 

Sansa decided that they would head to the Nightfort. It was abandoned and there was a gate they could use to go beyond the wall. Nobody would see them or try and stop them.

“Sansa,” Theon says quietly, “We should turn back…the Nightfort is abandoned. It’ll be cold and musty and no place for a lady such as yourself. If we just went and talked to the men at Castle Black, I’m sure they’d be amiable. I doubt they’d attack us even if they did kill Jon.”

“Don’t say that,” Sansa says softly, “never say that to me. Jon’s not dead.” She won’t accept it, she refuses to believe it despite what she heard. Jon can’t be dead; because if Jon is dead then that’s just another person she’s lost in this cold and bitter war with the Lannisters.  

Theon doesn’t reply, he just watches the back of her as she forces her way through snow bank after snow bank, shivering with cold and flushed pale with exhaustion.

“There are wildlings beyond the wall Sansa,” Theon says after a long while, “and dangerous folk. I can’t defend you.”

“Bran and Rickon are beyond the wall,” Sansa tells him, “That’s what you told me…you said you got reports of my brothers fleeing beyond the wall. That’s where we must go then.”

“There are _dangerous_ things beyond the wall Sansa…” Theon trails off worriedly.

“What?” Sansa smiles faintly as she glances back at him, snow glistening in her damp hair, “Are you afraid of the white walkers?”

“Don’t be silly,” Theon snorts, “They aren’t real…I’m just saying…there are other things beyond the wall that we should be afraid of. Wild animals, wolves, wildlings.”

“I’m not afraid of any wolves,” Sansa tells him, “I’m a Stark.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re immune to wolves,” Theon grouses quietly as they walk. Finally before dark they reach the Nightfort, a tall looming castle with broken towers and crumbling walls. The gates are open and rusted away, barely hanging from bolts fitted to the stone walls.

               Inside, Theon scavenges for firewood and builds a small fire in a hearth that they believed was in what used to be the dining hall. “This place is cursed,” Theon tells her quietly as they sit, huddled before the hearth, “Thousand years ago…the Nights King ruled here with his corpse queen.”

“It’s just a story Theon,” Sansa says tiredly, exhaustion making her eyelids heavy; “I’m so hungry…hand over some of that beef will you?”

Theon hands a piece over to her and she takes it, chewing thoughtfully. Finally Theon says, “This place hasn’t been used in nigh on a century now. I think it’s safe enough to sleep in though.”

“Sleep,” Sansa nods as she spreads out her furs and curls near the fire, wrapping herself up in their warmth before closing her eyes, “Sleep is good.”

Theon watches her for a long while as she sleeps, occasionally stoking the fire to keep it burning brightly. Finally he too lays downs, curling into his furs and drifting off to sleep as well.

 

* * *

 

               In the morning he wakes her, wielding a tin cup full of hot water. “It’s all we’ve got,” Theon tells her softly, “I went and got snow from outside and boiled it over the fire. It’s better than nothing.”

Sansa takes it gratefully and sips, chewing bits of salted beef along with it. They would have to ration their food carefully, she had no idea how far it was to wherever Bran and Rickon went. That was another problem; she had no idea where they went exactly.

“Sansa,” Theon says after a while, clearly thinking along the same lines as her, “I don’t know where they are out there.”

“Neither do I,” Sansa tells him, “but I just….” She sighs softly, “If I know Bran…he’s gone to find a weirwood. He was always talking about them back home. Dreams about a giant weirwood tree. Weirwood trees need water to thrive, and if we keep heading North we’ll run into the Shivering Sea eventually. I bet we’ll find a Weirwood tree out there somewhere.”

“Yes,” Theon agrees, “but we don’t know _which_ weirwood tree he’s gone too. If he’s gone to a weirwood tree at all.”

Sansa doesn’t reply and Theon thinks it’s because she doesn’t want to admit defeat. She was determined to find them, even if her plan to do so was completely mad. He didn’t have the heart to tell her no, to try and force her to stay at the Nightfort. He thinks she wouldn’t listen anyways; she would go on her own if she had to.

They pack up their things and Theon puts the fire out in the hearth before they set off, climbing carefully down an old wooden ladder with rungs that were snapped off every few steps. It’s a struggle to climb down but Sansa manages it, Theon tossing the bag with their supplies down into the frozen hall before he climbs down the ladder himself. Once at the bottom he slings the bag over one shoulder and together they walk towards the rusted gates beneath the wall.

“There it is,” Theon says quietly, his eyes on the outside world that was beyond the wall. It was a vast and endless winter land, wild and unexplored. It doesn’t take much to get the gates open and they slide through carefully, shutting the gate behind them afterwards.

“You sure you want to do this Sansa?” Theon asks, the two of them staring out at the wide expanse of land before them.

“Yes,” Sansa says softly as she starts forward, headed North with Theon trailing along behind her.

 

* * *

 

               The first night, they walked for hours and hours through the blistering cold wind and the deep snow until they came upon a sheltered stone ridge. Beneath it they made camp for the night, Theon draping the tent canvas over the opening to shield them from the icy wind and snow. They make a small fire, warming the salted beef and tin cups of hot water to split between them.  Theon knows this is madness, what they were doing was dangerous. He could recognize the signs of instability in Sansa, but also the desperate despair welling in her eyes every time he asked to turn back.  He would let this go on for a little longer, and if they found no signs of Bran he would drag her back to the wall if he had too. He would not let her instability kill them both.

He owed it to Robb to protect his sister, he owed it to Eddard Stark to keep his daughter alive, he owed to every Stark he knew, and so much more.

That first night they lie awake in their furs, Sansa on her side as she stares through the cracks between canvas and wall, staring up at the cold glittering stars above. Finally Sansa breaks the silence, anything to take her mind off the hollow emptiness building inside her, echoing in her tired eyes, “Theon…tell me a story.”

“What?” he frowns, confused. Then he ponders for a moment, considering who Sansa is and what she likes. She is a Stark of the North, no tales of salt wives or sunken ships would please her like the ones he grew up on. Instead he tells her another story, “Once…there was a girl named Adara…”

               Sansa closes her eyes, letting the sound of his voice lull her to sleep. She dreams of flying on the back of a great white ice dragon, the cold wind in her hair as she soars over Winterfell. Beneath her she sees her Father cry out to her, calling her home but the dragon carries her away, far beyond the wall, far away to the Land of Always Winter….

Sansa jerks awake, shivering. The fire’s gone out and Theon’s sitting up with his back against the stone, watching her sleep. “I can’t get it started again, the wind’s to strong. It’s no matter…we should probably get moving anyways. I don’t want to stay in one place to long out here.”

 

* * *

 

               They pack up and leave at first light, the dawn of a new day glittering on the snow as they trudge north with the bitter cold wind at their back. They walk for hours until at last they are forced to stop and rest. They sit for an hour, maybe more, sharing salted beef and sitting in silence. Neither had much to say to one another at that point. It was so cold that conversation seemed unappealing. They continue on soon enough, and as they are trudging the side of an impressive looking snow bank Theon finally decides it’s time. He cannot allow them to go any farther; if they went any farther he was afraid they’d never find their way back again.

“Sansa,” he sighs, the sweat upon his brow was freezing against his skin, and his breath was hot puffs of air in the cold around them. He was exhausted and fighting hypothermia, and he could see Sansa was no better than he. “We have to go back now.”

“Then go,” Sansa says without looking at him, as if in a trance. She presses on up the snowbank and Theon stumbles after her, grabbing her arms and shaking her roughly to snap her out of it.

“ _We_ have to go back now Sansa,” he says firmly, “I _won’t_ leave you here alone.”

               The daylight was slipping away from them overhead as they stood in the snow, the day giving way to twilight. The wind howls around them, picking up fiercely in a sudden hail of snow and ice. “I’m not going Theon,” Sansa tells him fiercely, “I have to find my brothers.”

“You’re going back with me Sansa,” Theon says forcefully as he tries to pull her along behind him back down the hill, “this is madness and you’ll get us both killed. We don’t even know where they are Sansa!”

“No please,” Sansa begs, twisting and jerking wildly to get free of his grip. She stumbles back in the snow and lands on her back, scrambling over onto her knees as she crawls on all fours up the snow bank with Theon chasing after her.

“Sansa get back here!” he shouts angrily, frustrated, “Sansa I’m sorry…I know I shouldn’t have let them go, I can’t ever make that up to you. But I can do _something_ right by your family and that’s keep _you_ alive!”

“Let me go!” Sansa screams, slapping wildly at him when he tries to grab her. His approach which had been so determined before suddenly pauses, and Sansa can hear something in Theon’s voice that sends fear skittering down her spine.

“Sansa,” Theon says softly, his eyes no longer on her but upon something at the very top of the snow bank above them, “Sansa….get back here….right now…. _slowly_ …” There was something in the sound of his voice that worried her, and it was the sound of fear.  Theon was frightened of whatever he was looking at, and Sansa was afraid to look.  “Sansa please,” Theon begs in a voice barely above a whisper, “Please…come here _right now_.”

Slowly, carefully she raises her head just enough to see what he is looking at. She expects a wild animal, a stray direwolf or even a wildling, but what she sees makes her think she must be asleep or dreaming. It was impossible but there it was all the same. When she rubs her eyes and looks again, the creature on top of the hill is still there, sitting astride a black destrier, strange shimmering armor that reflected all light and glittered like stars encased the body of a man with skin as white as marble and eyes like glowing blue sapphires. His hair was starlight, fluttering in the icy breeze as he gazed down upon the scene before him. In his hand he unsheathes a sword that looked more like a very long spear blade welded to a metal hilt. It looked like pure ice, this sword, but stronger than even Valyrian steel.

               Then suddenly he gallops forward and Theon is scrambling to grab her and Sansa rears back with a cry of alarm, tumbling into him and both go down the snowbank in a steep roll all the way to the bottom. They are a tangle of arms and limbs when they stop, and Theon is scrambling to get her on her feet as the man on the horse gallops closer, clearly not worried about them escaping him as his pace was easy and unhurried. With her hand in his, Theon yanks Sansa away from the creature, but running in deep snow is difficult and clumsy work. They are soon over taken, the creature turning his horse in a circle around them until he stops, the blade of his sword tipped just beneath Theon’s chin as he stares down at the other man.

Sansa is too frightened to move or speak, and both she and Theon simply stare in awe and horror at the creature. He looked almost angry or irritated, but neither of them could decide which it was. Finally from somewhere behind them they hear a shout and when Sansa looks, she sees others, five or six at most with the same sort of armor and swords. Within minutes they are surrounded, but the men on these horses looked different than the one who had caught them. Their skin was ice and snow, gaunt and pale. They too had the same burning bright blue eyes as the one who found them.

“ _Please_!” Sansa suddenly blurts out, shocked by the sudden move of the man’s blade. She was certain he was going to kill Theon, “Please don’t kill him!”

He just stares at her blankly, and she tries again, this time in Valyrian, “ _Vunou’l kaseele!”_

He pauses, blinks at her and lowers his sword. This was definitely a good start, but he clearly seemed agitated.  Something Theon had done had upset him, though Sansa couldn’t figure out what. Then another voice behind her, which didn’t particularly sound like a voice at all to the ears of Sansa and Theon both, says something that sounds remarkably like ice grating against stone. It hurts their ears, and both wince at the sound.

“I don’t think they speak Valyrian Sansa,” Theon says quietly, afraid to raise his head least he upset the rider before him any further.

“He lowered his sword Theon,” Sansa replies just as softly, “I think maybe he at least understood some of it if not all.”

“Whatever language they speak,” Theon says softly, “I don’t think we could speak it.”

               Suddenly they turn in synchronization, creatures of silence and cold as they herd both Sansa and Theon up the snowbank and back towards the rest of their men. “I’ve never seen anything so quiet before,” Theon tells Sansa as they walk, “you can’t even hear their horses move.”

“What are they?” Sansa whispers worriedly, her eyes on the creature who had found them. He was watching her, glancing back now and then as his gaze shifted between her and Theon suspiciously.

“ _White walkers_ ,” Theon whispers back, “didn’t I tell you?”

“Yes,” Sansa swallows thickly, “I just thought they were a myth.”

“So did _I_ ,” Theon frowns.

“What do you suppose…” Sansa trails off, eyes wide and frightened. It was more than just a few white walkers, it was an army of the dead. Thousands upon thousands stood in silence, watching with glazed blue eyes that glowed hauntingly blue in their sallow pale faces as she and Theon passed between them.

“Sweet seven,” Theon whispers nervously, his gaze on the massive army, “this is _dark magic_ …this is…” he shakes his head, unable to hide the fear in his eyes. His hand curls into Sansa’s as they walk, the two of them giving each other strength to keep moving.

               Then suddenly they’re being separated, one of the others prodding Theon with the blade of his sword, urging him off into a different direction while Sansa is being herded away from him. She shouts his name, but it’s carried away on the wind even as he shouts hers in reply. She loses sight of his frightened face amidst the glowing eyes of the dead around her, and she’s made to walk along behind the horses and the creatures who rode them.

               She is exhausted and half-frozen within an hour, shivering fiercely as the wind howls around them as winter shields it’s children and their army.  Sansa is so cold she can barely walk anymore, and when she stumbles to her knees, hypothermia settling in, she gets smacked on the shoulder with the flat of a blade, the creature above her shouting in that horrible icy voice she doesn’t understand. She wants to cry but she hasn’t the energy to even do that. She can’t get up, and she can’t walk any further. The horses pass on around her, some of them chuckling as they glance down at her when they pass. Until one stops, a pale icy hand outstretched. She looks up at him, this creature who had found them and debates upon the offer.

               Somewhere in the distance she hears a shout, that horrible winter language that grates on her ears. Trembling she reaches up and takes his hand, letting him pull her up out of the snow and up onto his horse. It is then that she realizes with a certain amount of dismay that the horse was dead too. She doesn’t know how to sit with him, she is afraid to touch him. His hand felt like ice in hers, so cold it almost burned her skin. He scoots forward on the saddle to give her room, and she settles in behind him carefully, trying desperately hard not to notice how there are open wounds on the horse beneath them, that this horse was like the army that trailed along behind them.

               She is careful to grip the edges of the saddle and keep her hands away from the man in front of her, or the horse beneath her for that matter. Up ahead another rides up, and he looks different then all of them. His face is thin and gaunt and layered in ice, his eyes a brilliant glowing blue. Atop his head that seemed more part of his skin was a ring of icy spikes that looked remarkably like a crown. He takes one look at her and smirks, shaking his head as she looks at the man on the horse in front of her. Then he raises his sword and the massive army and the children of winter move forward as one, but to where Sansa had no idea.


	2. The Land of Always Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

 

               There was a cold and bitter air that hung like a fog in the palace of the winter children. These people who lived in the ice, their fortresses and keeps, their castles and palaces were built of it; they themselves were made of it. Living ice given sentient thought, or so Sansa believed it of them.  The one who helped her was called Eindride, which when said sounded like _Ian-drEE-de_ was currently watching her watch him as he tried to coax her into a heavy fur cloak he’d brought up from somewhere. She was afraid to ask where it came from, she was afraid it had belonged to one of the poor dead creatures enslaved to follow the winter children. Eindride as he called himself, through much struggle as she tried to teach him her name as well, looked exasperated with her.

“ _San-sa_ ,” he said, trying to sound out her name as he spoke to her. Neither knew the others language very well and it took effort to communicate. Though it wasn’t hard for Sansa to work out what he wanted as he held out the heavy fur cloak, as if offering to place it over her shoulders for her.

“ _No_ ,” Sansa shakes her head, staring at the cloak like it might bite her. She was horribly cold though, and she wasn’t sure where exactly he and his kin were going. Eindride snorts in frustration and stalks forward, Sansa stumbling back and away from him with wide eyes. With a flourish he raises and swings it around her shoulders, clasping the cloak in place.

When she touches the clasp his pale hand catches hers and he shakes his head, issuing a fierce noise that reminded Sansa of the sound of cracking ice.  He grimaces at the face she makes, rubbing his face tiredly. His language often times hurt her ears, and it was hard for him to speak to her. “ _Ka-eep_ ,” he tells her, the words rolling awkwardly over his tongue.  His cold hand touches her shoulder, his eyes on the cloak as he looks at her, “Kaa-eep.”

“Kaa-eep?” Sansa blinks at him in confusion, “Oh…. _keep_.”

He groans and turns away from her, looking frustrated. She’s certain she got the wording right, but he seems aggravated that he can’t pronounce anything correctly. His language was a series of long low sounding cracks and high howling cries, it sounded nothing like the common tongue so it didn’t surprise her that when he tried to speak her language he used his own vowels instead of hers.

               The place where they camped looked like an outpost of some kind. It was a long white snowbank hollowed out and reinforced with ice carved walls. Sansa shivered fiercely despite the cloak, huddling in the corner away from the others. Eindride had left her there blankets as well while he went to talk to the one whose brow looked like a crown. Sansa was frightened of him, he kept looking at her oddly and then back at Eindride, the two of them going back in forth in a series of odd sounds that reminded Sansa of deep winter at its height. He didn’t seem pleased with her, whatever they were talking about. He kept pointing outside, towards the horde of undead gathered and waiting in silence for their masters. Then back at her, and then back at them, and then at Eindride. All that pointing seemed awfully rude, but Sansa dare not speak a word against it.  Finally Eindride returns and drops down beside her, his back against the icy wall. Sansa watches him wearily, huddled beneath layers of blankets and the heavy cloak he gave her. It would be a funny sight Sansa thinks, if anyone saw her like that. She was surrounded by ice warriors and mythical creatures and here she was in the corner, half hidden beneath a pile of blankets.

“ _Suuueessseaa_ ,” Eindride says, the word rolling off his tongue like the wind in the eaves above them, his finger curling in a lock of her auburn hair. Immediately the tips of it turn white, and Sansa watches with mild horror as that inky white creeps up towards her scalp like a living thing, consuming all color as it goes.  He lets it go upon seeing the look on her face and sighs, turning his gaze away from her.

               She thinks she might have hurt his feelings perhaps, she wonders if he was complimenting her and misunderstood.  “ _Sansa_ ,” she says softly, “Not…not _Suesea_.”

“ _Sueeesseaa_ ,” he repeats, turning his gaze to her as he touches her hair again, holding the lock up to her eyes, “ _Sueeesssea_.”

“Oh!” Sansa blinks, watching the color fade in her hair as he holds it up for her to look at. “ _Color_ ….red?”

“Reeaddd,” he repeats, frowning as he concentrates, “Reeeaddd…”

“Red,” Sansa repeats slowly, “ _red_.”

“Reeed,” he sounds out, watching her lips as she speaks, “ _Red_.”

“Yes,” Sansa smiles and nods, “That’s it.”

               Suddenly the crowd parts and Sansa watches with wide eyes as the one who bore the crown walked towards them. He watches her for a moment, sneering slightly before he looks at Eindride. “ _Keesseppeeseeaa_.”

“ _MMmmeeeseezzz_ ,” Eindride hisses back irritably, glaring up at the other man.

               They go round and round for a minute or so before the one who stood before them scoffed and waved Eindride off, shaking his head as he turns and walks away. “He doesn’t like me very much, does he?” Sansa ask Eindride quietly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to answer her anyways. Eindride looks at her and shakes his head, watching the other man walk away.

“ _Meessseee peeessaa_ ,” he says as he points towards the other man and then to himself, “ _Meeesssee peessa eee naaauuuwaaa_.”

“Oh it’s no use,” Sansa sighs as she rubs her tired eyes and looks at him, “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Eindride huffs and looks away from her, closing his eyes as he leans against the wall before adding, “ _Meeszzna_ ,” he tells her without looking at her, “ _Meesszznna_.”

“It means _sleep_ ,” says a voice Sansa hasn’t heard before. She blinks at a woman lying curled in a pile of furs not far from her, watching her and Eindride with mild interest, “He’s telling you to go to sleep.”

“You can speak their language?” Sansa says, relieved to find someone who can understand her.

“No,” she sniffs lightly, burrowing deeper into the furs to get warm, “Nobody can. They can speak ours though with some practice. Only one who can actually speak it properly is him however.” She points to someone off in the distance, and sure enough it’s the same one who Eindride had been arguing with.

“ _Muffasauunaa_!” Someone snaps and the girl falls silent, disappearing beneath the fur. Sansa can see it’s one of the ice warriors nearby, glowering angrily at the other woman.

Sansa’s mouth snaps shut when he turns that glower in her direction and she lies down amidst the warm blankets and closes her eyes, unsure of how she was going to sleep with all the fear and adrenaline racing through her blood.  Somehow, remarkably she does fall asleep. When she wakes though, it’s to the sudden shock of icy hands yanking her to her feet, her skin burning beneath their grip. She’s groggy and stumbling as they shove her forward, one of them yanking at the collar of her gown. She yelps and cries out, struggling to get away. She isn’t sure what’s happening, she’s frightened and alone now. Eindride was nowhere in sight, Sansa’s heart racing as they tear at her gown. “No please!” Sansa yelps, stumbling back from them, gripping the tatters of her gown to her chest.

               Then suddenly the one who was ripping at her gown shatters like a million crystals floating through the air, crashing to the ground with a sound like broken glass.  Eindride stands in his place, his sword held tight and swung low. His blue eyes are vibrant and wild and his voice rolls loud enough for all to hear, his words sound like an angry blizzard. He slaps a hand against his chest and then points towards Sansa, staring anyone down who dares step near her. Then he grabs her by the arm and yanks her close to him, pulling her free from the crowd that had gathered to witness the fight and back towards the corner where Sansa had been sitting.

               Gently he tips her chin up, his pale hands cold against her skin as he looks her over carefully. He shakes his head, hissing in that angry guttural language he spoke moments before. Then he wraps her in blankets and sits down beside her, glaring at anyone who dared to look in their direction. Whatever had just happened, she was grateful he was there to save her.

 

* * *

 

               They press on at first light, this time Sansa sits in front of him, side saddle while he holds the reins on either side of her and steers. She’s grateful for the change, mostly because riding behind him was getting very uncomfortable.  They go on for hours it seems, Sansa occasionally nodding off, her body slumping back against his. It was the cold that always woke her though, his skin was like ice against hers and every time her bare skin touched his for too long it burned. Luckily he was wearing armor, and he would shift gently just enough so that her head was lull on his shoulder instead of near the bare skin of his neck.

               By dark they reach a wall of ice so great and so high it nearly rivals that of the Wall that Bran the Builder created. It is a cavernous mountain of ice and snow, carved and hollowed to make homes for winter’s children. They ride down into the deep carved tunnels beneath it, a long train of undead and ice warrior alike. There was no fire here, save for the odd blue flames that flickered on torches along the walls. When Sansa drew near them she could feel its warmth, but it was cold warmth, like burning cold. It had to have been magic; Sansa thinks as they pass these odd looking torches and go deeper into the caverns below. There they dismount and Eindride catches her by the waist and gently helps her down, Sansa sliding gracefully to her feet. He then leads her away from the room they were in down a series of long icy tunnels with no windows, a maze like dwelling that Sansa feared she’d get lost in if he moved to quickly for her to keep up. They stop in a circular room, shutting the door quietly behind him as they enter. Sansa is shivering with cold by now, and races towards the hearth where the odd blue flames dance and flicker with life. It’s warmer here, and she’s grateful for it.  Eindride watches her for a few moments before he utters a few odd guttural words and then leaves, Sansa jumping at the sound of a woman’s voice from behind her.

“Yes…I’ll get her sorted,” said the voice, the same voice that belonged to the woman she’d seen before back at the outpost. When Eindride is gone, she watches Sansa before she says, “I’m Mariska.”

“Sansa,” she replies softly, “Where are we?”

“The palace of the Night’s King,” she shrugs, “The Winter Keep…whatever you want to call it.”

“The Night’s King?” Sansa blinks at her, “He’s a story….a myth.”

“You’d think that wouldn’t you?” she chuckles, “you highborn ladies and your dainty fairytales. You’d not last a day out here, not where the _real_ fairytales are born.”

“You’re a wildling, aren’t you?” Sansa asks wearily, having never met a wildling before.

“I am,” she nods, “Born and bred and kidnapped by the white walkers,” she sighs aloud, “but that’s beside the point. His highness wants me to see you cleaned up.”

“ _Highness_?” Sansa wheels around to look at Mariska, “Eindride?”

“Yeah,” she smiles faintly at her, “He’s the King’s son.”

 

* * *

 

               “You’re lucky you know,” Mariska says later on as she scrubs at Sansa’s feet with a wash cloth and a bucket of warm water, “They don’t like heat…I have to do all the cleaning and the cooking for all them women they bring back here. You get the royal treatment though don’t you? It’s cuse of your hair I wager, they never seen a woman with hair like that before.”

               Sansa was warm again finally, Mariska had been given a gown to put her in, a deep blue long sleeved heavy wool gown with a scooped V-neck much like the gowns the women wore in Highgarden. The skirt of it was very full, but it flowed like snow across the ice. Eindride had treated her to a sight of magic too, when he proffered it to Mariska to give to her. He passed his fingers over the blue embroidered along the collar and cuffs and they turned as white as pearls.

“ _All_ the women?” Sansa asks, watching Mariska work. She could wash her own feet, but the woman insisted.

“Keeps them for breeding,” Mariska says as she looks up at Sansa, “but I suppose you’ll be different. Prince Eindride’s keeping you as his new pet I wager.” After she’s done, she sets the bucket aside and looks at her, “So…how’d a highborn lass like you get way out here anyways? Aren’t you supposed to be back on the other side of the wall pissing in chamber pots and fighting over land?”

“I…” Sansa stammers, struggling with the way Mariska spoke to her. She was unaccustomed to such rudeness, Mariska was a wildling and they did not live the same way the people in Westeros did. “I was out looking for my brothers…their lost you see. I was with Theon---Oh _Theon_!” Sansa suddenly remembers, jumping to her feet, “Do you know where they’d have sent him? I have to find him!”

“Theon a man?” Mariska quirks an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sansa frowns at her, “Why?”

“Then he’s dead,” Mariska shrugs, “They always kill the men, add them to the army.”

Sansa stares at her for a moment before she drops down into her chair, blinking at the ground in thought. If Theon was dead then she was all alone here save for Eindride, and she wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from her.  “He _can’t_ be dead,” Sansa whispers brokenly.

“I used to say that about my brothers,” Mariska tells her tiredly as she picks up the bucket to leave, “but I saw all three of them just the other day, wandering round with the rest of them corpses. Believe me Sansa, he’s dead.” Then she was alone, and Sansa pulled her chair closer to the fire and dropped her face in her hands and wept.

 


	3. A Lone Wolf Howls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The first thing Jon Snow felt when his eyes opened for the first time in days, was the agonizing burn of his body which had gone far too long without oxygen. He chokes and gags and coughs, rolling onto his side as he clutches his chest.

“Easy Jon,” Edd says, “ _Easy_.” Edd reaches out to him, pats him on the back and reassures Jon that everything is fine while the other man coughs and gasps, sucking in air like a starved man.

               Jon blinks and groans, rolling back onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Then he sits up slowly, his friends catching him when he slumps back again. They help him up and he sits there, staring around the room as the others stare at him in awe and wonder. “Where am I?” he croaks, his throat dry and sore from disuse.

“Your safe Jon,” Edd reassures him, “you’re at Castle Black. The wildlings have come, they’ve rescued us.”

“Rescued us?” Jon frowns, “why would we need rescuing?”

“He won’t remember at first,” Melisandre warns from the background quietly. When Jon looks at her, he sees the shadows dance along her dark auburn hair as the fire flickers in the hearth behind her. “He has been gone longer then he should have been. It will take time.”

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Jon frowns, freezing when he sees a body in the room, covered by a blanket. “Who’s that?”

“Davos Seaworth,” Edd says quietly, mournfully as he looks at the body of the man behind him, “He gave his life for you.”

“I don’t understand,” Jon frowns, anger dancing along the lines of his vision, “what _happened_?”

“You died Jon,” Edd replies softly, “and Lady Melisandre brought you back.”

 

* * *

 

               He sits in a chair that ought not to be his anymore. Those who survived the attack by the wildlings, --which was only those who had sided with Jon—had named him Lord Commander. There is a plate of food sitting in front of him but he doesn’t want to eat. His stomach is restless though, protesting how hungry he really is. He’s been dead for days apparently, and Melisandre warned that his body would need rest and food for some time before he’d be strong enough to go outside.

               He’s done the counting, and organized shelter and food for the wildlings that came to his aid. There was to be a funeral pyre for every single one of his former brothers who’d died in the battle, and then the rebuilding of Castle Black would begin. The siege on the keep had been brutal, and much was lost.  His direwolf Ghost was still missing, apparently having been released from his pen during the fight. Ghost often wandered off though, so it didn’t bother Jon so much as it bothered him that half of the night’s watch was gone in a single night. They had to guard the Wall; he’d seen enough of the white walkers to know that. He was afraid that they’d come any moment and Jon wouldn’t be ready, Jon wouldn’t have the numbers to fend them off.

               He’s named Edd First Ranger, and given him charge of getting the Castle cleaned up. Edd would oversee the bodies of the slain rangers and have them burned on the pyre being built outside. They were only doing as they thought was best, according to Jon’s reasoning. He did not harbor hate for any of them, only despair that they died in such a horrible way, that it came to this at all.  There was also the matter of Davos Seaworth, the man who sacrificed his life to pay the debt owed to the Lord of Light so that Melisandre could bring Jon back.  He wanted Davos to have a separate pyre to himself, and he wanted to honor the man as best he could. He owed his life to Davos Seaworth, quite literally.

_A life for a life Jon Snow. Only death can pay for life._

Those words haunted him as he gazed upon Davos. He barely knew him, but he knew him to be a good man. Melisandre had told him about what happened to Stannis and his army, and it made his heart ache mournfully. Winterfell was truly lost if Stannis couldn’t win it back. A knock at the door brings him out of his revelry and he answers, watches Edd step in and shake the snow from his cloak, smiling at Jon faintly before he sits down.

“Everything’s in order Jon,” Edd says quietly, watching Jon stare at his untouched plate of food with distaste. “Jon, you have to eat.”

“I will,” Jon says as he pushes the tray aside and looks at Edd, “Later. Right now we have business to deal with. We need to see to the rebuilding and fortifying of the keep first. Then I want you to take a range out and scout the perimeter along the wall. I want to make sure those things aren’t marching on us as we speak and we’re not ready for them.”

“Jon…about the range,” Edd says worriedly, “There’s only a hundred us….how are we going to hold off all those things anyways?”

“Fire,” Jon says, “Lots of it. We need to burn the bodies before dark Edd…you remember what happened.”

“I do,” Edd agrees, “and the pyres have already been lit. I just don’t know how we’re going to fight those things with only a hundred men, no dragon glass and a wee bit of _fire_.”

“Let me worry about that,” Jon smiles wearily, “and you see to it the men are ready in case the others _do_ show up.”

“Aye,” Edd nods and stands, his gaze on the plate of food, “Jon….your my best friend. If you don’t eat that I’m going to hold you down and cram it in your gob. _Eat_ something will you?”

“ _Yes_ Edd,” Jon sighs, “I will…I promise. Now go.”

 Edd nods and leaves, Jon watching him with a heavy sigh. As he sits and watches the fire in the hearth flicker warmly, he hears a wolf howl and distance and smiles faintly. Ghost wasn’t far off then. Somewhere beyond the wall but not too far away from the sound of it. He turns his gaze to the plate of food and groans before plucking a piece of cheese up between two fingers and popping it into his mouth. Then another, and then another. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d cleaned the plate and started to pour himself another cup of wine.

He really should listen to Edd more often.

 

* * *

 

               The early morning dawn comes too early for Jon Snow. He rolls out of bed with a groan, though he knows he doesn’t actually need to get up yet. He’s been told he needs rest, and nobody would question him if he slept in till noon.  However things needed to be done, the Castle needed to be fortified, and he needed to find the numbers to fend off the white walkers.  Last night before bed he’d sent one of his rangers on a mission to the dungeons of King’s Landing in search of new recruits. He hoped it would be fruitful, because if it isn’t they were doomed. He also sent a missive to the King by raven, warning him of the dangers the white walkers posed. He would testify himself to King Tommen if he must, along with every other ranger who fought alongside him by the Shivering Sea.  If Tommen doubted him, he wouldn’t doubt him for long.

As he washed up in the wash basin on his dressing table he could hear the sound of horse hooves in the snow and knew they were sending the range out to scout the perimeter as he’d asked. He has no idea what’s out there, but he needed to know now. If those things were coming, they needed to come up with a strategy to hold them off and give King Tommen enough time to send an army. They hated fire, that was clear enough. He could light the whole bloody wall aflame if he must, every torch and every barrel. He could hurl fire at them; fling it down upon them with arrows. It won’t kill them, but it will slow them down.

Rubbing his face he sighs, noting how course the dark hair on his face has become. He’d need to shave soon, and maybe trim his hair. He was beginning to look untidy; his dark hair curled so thickly along his face it was difficult to manage at the best of times.

               Outside the morning light is cold and pale as it illuminates the burnt remains of Castle Black. What was left of the Night’s watch was busy rebuilding what they could with help from the wildlings who stayed behind to help with the clean-up. It was good to breath fresh air again, Jon thinks as he grips the pommel of his sword and walks the keep. It was a smoking ruin outside, but he hoped it would be rebuilt before the white walkers came. He knew they’d be coming too, if what the Night’s King did was anything to go by. Across the sparring yard he sees Melisandre, her eyes distant as she gazes upon the work being done.

“You look distracted,” Jon says as he approaches her, “are you alright?”

“I’ve seen another vision,” she saw worriedly, “the images keep changing…but one thing remains the same. I see snow.”

“There quite a lot of it around here for certain,” Jon agrees with a half-smile, “Lady Melisandre…perhaps you should go inside and rest. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” she agrees, “but it is _you_ that should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” Jon shakes his head, waving her off, “I feel fine.”

“Your body has endured great hardship,” she tells him pointedly, “you must eat and sleep and _rest._ ”

“And what if the Night’s King comes, then what?” he asks her firmly, “what if he marches his army up to our gates and I’m in bed _napping_?”

“Then we face him with fire,” she tells him, “and the Lord of Light will guide us to victory.”

“I won’t argue with you about the Lord of Light,” he tells her, “You brought me back from the dead. I won’t dare argue that Lady Melisandre…but the Night’s King has power too, I’ve seen it. He can raise people from the dead without any sacrifice from anyone.”

“Necromancy,” she tells him, “it’s different then raising someone from the dead as I have done for you. They have no life in them because the price was not paid for it. They are merely willed to move by magic alone. They do not eat or breath or sleep, they only exist so long as the magic sustaining them keeps them alive.”

“Whatever it was,” Jon says worriedly, a frown creasing his lips, “it was powerful…and I don’t think fifty men of the Night’s Watch will be able to stand against ten thousand of them.”

“The Lord of Light will find a way Jon Snow,” she says she turns and walks back towards the keep, “you simply must believe.”

He watches her go with weary eyes. Stannis Baratheon is dead because he followed her lead, and he feared to do the same now. Yet she brought him back from the dead, he had to give her some credit. He wouldn’t dare trust her completely, but he will listen when she has something to say, it was the least he could do.

 

 


	4. Ergorathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The sky was a heady mixture of orange and purple hues streaking across the sky as the sun set in the distance. Here in the frozen land of the winter children, they never feared the dawn. The sky during the day was often overcast and cold, and in the evenings it cleared so crisp and bright Sansa could count the stars if she had a mind to. She sits on the ledge of a window carved from the ice, staring up at the sky. They had no glass here in their windows; they had no need of it. Sansa however did, as it was very cold outside. Thus she was given a space where she could venture out into the fresh air if she chose and retreat back into the windowless room beyond for warmth.

               She never dared complain or appear discomforted. Eindride was good to her, he often brought her gifts and trinkets from whatever treasure hold these people had.  She dare not ever appear dissatisfied with his gifts either, least he grow displeased with her and decide to cast her out into the caverns below the keep where they kept all the other women. 

               Sometimes in the evenings he’d visit her after his work and they’d sit by the frozen hearth, Sansa’s eyes on the dancing blue flames as he watches her quietly. He just liked to watch her and it was unnerving, it was also difficult to have a conversation with someone who couldn’t speak your language. She resorted to teaching him some of it, starting with small things like the names of items in the room. In turn he’d teach her the word for it in his language, and they went from there. She couldn’t pronounce anything he repeated back to her though, much to her dismay. It was as Mariska had told her days before, that her kind could not speak the language of the winter children and it was becoming clear as to why. They spoke in the song of winter, the song of ice and nature itself.  When she listened to him, sometimes he hummed while she slept.

               He liked to sit by the fire and watch her sleep too, and sometimes she thinks he’s singing to her in that soft cold language. It sounded like the winter storms she remembered as a child that would often times blow through the North, the wind howling in the eaves and the snow pattering away in clumps against the roof tops. It was beautiful and it was chilling all at once.

She drifts to sleep listening to him, and somewhere in her dreams she begins to hum along. It was like a vibration, like this quiet hum only she could hear and she followed the tune as best she could though her human vocal cords could not match the melody. When she wakes in the morning, he’s always gone.

 

* * *

 

          

              Today was going to be different. Sansa could feel it in her bones as Mariska poured hot water over her head and scrubbed her hair clean. She wasn’t as talkative today Sansa noticed, and this worried her. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Mariska smiles half-heartedly, “why would you say that?”

“You’re so quiet,” Sansa points out, “you’re never this quiet.”

“I’m just worried is all,” Mariska says quietly, “ain’t often we get women through here, never more then eight or nine at most. None of them are worth a piss to talk too, and your so sweet…”

“I don’t understand,” Sansa frowns, watching Mariska pace.

“The King’s sent for you, and I don’t know why. I know I’m to get you ready and then you’ll be taken to him.” Mariska stares at her, worrying her lip for a moment before adding, “He’s never sent for one of the women before. I don’t understand it. I don’t know what he wants from you or why he’s sent for you.”

This worries Sansa, but she tries not to show it. Mariska was already nervous and her new friend would suffer more if she saw Sansa panicking with her. She dresses in the gown that Eindride had brought her the first night she came here and carefully smooths the skirt, pinning her auburn hair neatly and letting the rest flow down her back to her waves. Then Mariska leads her out of the chamber where she’s spent the last week and a half in, and follows her higher up into the cavernous home of the Night’s King.

 

* * *

 

               The hall of council was small compared to the throne room in Kings Landing. Winters children did not believe in such grandeur on such a scale.  In the center of the room stood a platform of ice carved to look like a long oval table which was surrounded by four chairs on either side and one at the far end, which was ornately carved and more resplendent than the rest. Scattered throughout the room stood eight men dressed in odd black leather tunics, all had the same pale hair and glowing blue eyes that all of winter’s children had. They turn and look as she enters, and Sansa blushes brightly as they stare. They move so soundlessly when they turn and walk, like gliding over the floor without every making a sound. As she steps further into the room she feels the heat of embarrassment creep up her neck, her tiny footsteps echoing in the chamber.

She was so _noisy_ compared to them, no wonder they hated her kind.

The Night’s King stood at the far end of the room and watched her before scoffing and turning away, nodding towards someone she couldn’t see at first. He steps out from behind a pillar, a big bear of a man, with wild dark hair and thick brown hair along his jawline. He was clothed in heavy furs and had a steel sword strapped to his hip. It was clear to Sansa he was another wildling, but he was around her age, no more than five and twenty at least.

“Hello,” he says in a thick brogue as he approaches her. Behind him the others file out with the Night’s King leaving last, watching her thoughtfully before he to turns and leaves. “I’m called Aodhfin; I’m the Kings translator…what’s your name then?”

“Sansa,” she says wearily as he approaches, “of House Stark.”

“House Stark you say?” he quirks a brow as he looks at her, “Well then Sansa of _House Stark_ , there are no Houses here and you are no longer a Stark. Here we are only our names, the winter children don’t believe in Houses or hierarchies like your kind do.”

“You’re his translator?” Sansa asks as she gazes upon him, “I thought he could speak the common tongue.”

“And who told you that?” He grins at her faintly, “Mariska was it? Yes…he can speak the common tongue but he doesn’t like to. Thinks it’s an ugly guttural language. I’m his translator because I’m good with languages. I’ve spent most of my life learning them too, travelling through the wildling camps across the Northern plain. I can even speak the language of the children,” he sniffs, “suppose that’s why he wanted me. Thinks I might figure out how to speak his language one day. I can understand it well enough though…that’s my job. I’m going to teach you to understand it too.”

Sansa processes this for a moment before she says, “Mariska…she called Eindride a _prince_ ….”

“Yes,” he nods, “and he would be one if they believed in such things, but they don’t.”

“And you called the Night’s King…” Sansa trails off expectantly.

“Yes,” he agrees again with a nod, “but I only say it that way because you wouldn’t know who I was talking about otherwise. Nobody here calls him that, that’s what your kind call him. Here they just call him Ergorathe. Call him Ergor though, it’s easier to pronounce.” He laughs a little and motions for her to follow him out of the council hall and down a series of long icy hallways, “This is the home of Ergor and his wife. This is the home of the white walkers as our people call them. Here there are rules, and the first and most important is that you keep to your part of the palace. Never go beyond the Ice gate, _never_. There are ice spiders as big as bears out there, and they’ll kill you no sooner as they see you.” He pauses in a long corridor with wide open windows, and the two of them gaze out across the open expanse of land before them, “secondly, you are Eindride’s property. If someone touches you, you tell me or Mariska right away. If anyone hurts you, you tell me right away or you tell Mariska. The penalty is death to touch another’s property here, especially when it comes to their women folk. They have so few women here that you’re a rare commodity for them.”

He sighs, his gaze on the morning sky above before he continues, “Thirdly, Ergor doesn’t trust you. He doesn’t like you much either, but that’s because he’s paranoid. Your name doesn’t help either,” he laughs at this, “your name in their language literally translates into _fire bird_ or _bird of fire_ ….and as you know they aren’t exactly fond of fire. That and your hair looks like dragon flame…something else their not particularly fond of.”

“He’s afraid of me because of my _hair_?” Sansa blinks at him in surprise.

“And your name,” Aodhfin points out, “and the fact that his son has taken up a particular fascination with you that he doesn’t like.” He scratches his beard thoughtfully before he continues, “it’s taken Ergor and his wife centuries to have a child, and Eindride is that child. He’s the only one they’ve got…you can see why he’s so paranoid about him.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees. She’s known ladies in the court who struggled for years to have children, and once they had them they were fiercely protective of them. “Why did they have such a hard time with it?”

Aodhfin shrugs, “Well…that’s difficult to say. You see…the stories are all wrong. Your people say he was some evil madman who abandoned his post at the wall, didn’t they? Truth is…he was never at the wall. He’s been what he is since he was born, and his wife was the daughter of one of the Barrow Kings. They fell in love and he made her what she is now.” He takes a deep breath, fingering something white and smooth around his neck.

When Sansa leans closer she can see it, a curved white tooth hanging on a simple black leather string. “So none of it’s true then.”

“None of it,” Aodhfin smiles faintly, “It’s all horseshit really. He lets them whisper what they want on your side of the wall because it just leaves your people more confused than before, especially when he’s out there with his own raiding villages. They don’t even know what hit them.”

Sansa watches his fingers, curling and uncurling around the smooth white tooth hanging around his neck, “what’s that?”

“What this?” he says, holding up the tooth, “it’s a dragon tooth isn’t it?” he tells her, chuckling lightly, “It was my little brothers….he’s dead now. Killed in the raids when he was three. That’s how I ended up here…I was brought here as a boy, couldn’t have been more than twelve…maybe thirteen. I was brilliant at languages even then though…I could speak Valyrian and the common tongue and even the language of the children. Ergor heard about me…went looking for me and now here I am.”

“So,” Sansa asks as she changes topics, the two of them pacing the long icy corridors together. It was hard for her to hear about war and violence because she’d seen so much of it already. She was barely twenty and already she’s lost her family and loved ones to war and the greed of men. “There isn’t a hierarchy here at all?”

“No,” Aodhfin shakes his head, “Like the wildlings…except we don’t have council leaders…we have clan leaders. They have nine council leaders, one from each clan. Eight sit the council, the ninth is Ergor as he was the one who founded this whole thing and pulled everybody together under one roof. He took after the ways of Old Valyria, used their ideas to create what he has now. They don’t have Kings or Queens here, no royalty…no high borns…no minor houses…nothing. You are only who you are here, nothing more and nothing less. If they had a King however, it would be Ergor. Just like if the wildlings had a King it would be Mance Rayder.”

Sansa nods, pondering all this new information, “Eindride…he keeps bringing me things…”

“Oh yes,” he laughs a little, “he likes you. Though I think he worries your unhappy…keeps trying to sooth your fears with gifts. They’ve got tons of it beneath the caverns. Eight thousand years you know…they’ve acquired a great deal. Including a library the likes you’ve never seen I can assure you. Taught myself to read while I was down there…learned my letters so I could be a better translator.”

“They have a _library_?” Sansa wonders aloud. It was hard to imagine these fiercely independent creatures sitting in a library reading. They seemed more the type to conquer civilizations with little time to sit and read.

“Oh aye,” he smiles at her mischievously as he produces a key from his pocket, “and I’ve got the _key_.”

 

* * *

 

               Aodhfin begins by teaching her the basics. Neither of them could speak the language because they didn’t have the third vocal cord required to sound out the syllables, but Aodhfin does his best to reproduce the sounds. He teaches her simple phrases, and laughs when she tries to repeat them and ends up tongue tied.

“If Mariska can get it, you can too,” he tells her pointedly, “now try again.”

Sansa sighs heavily, rubbing her face tiredly. “Can Eindride speak the common tongue?”

“No,” he smiles faintly, “but I think you know that already. He understands it more than he can speak it, though I’ve tried to teach him.”

               The library they stand in is a cave hollowed out in the ice, shelf after shelf, row after row of books line every corner of every crevice in the room. Books in every language imaginable and some Sansa doesn’t even recognize. Some of them Aodhfin forbade her to touch because they were imbued with magic and in the wrong hands could be dangerous. What she liked best were the books in the very back of the cavern, they were from Old Valyria. Sansa had no idea so many had survived, and Aodhfin had told her that over the centuries Ergor collected them all, his craving for magic and power was limitless. He knew Old Valyria was a source of great power, and his obsession with their ideals drove him to seek out their knowledge as well.

               The books in the back held story after story, historical documents, birth records, and best of all, Valyrian poetry. It was Sansa’s favorite, something she hasn’t indulged in for what felt like years. Not since Joffrey became King and everyone she loved was killed.

“Like those do you?” Aodhfin chuckles as she reads, “Boring shit,” he sniffs loudly, “all flowers and love songs.”

“I think their beautiful,” Sansa tells him without raising her eyes from the book in her hands, “and if you don’t care for poetry their history seemed terribly interesting as well.”

“You like history too?” he quirks a brow at her.

“I like books,” Sansa shrugs as she looks up at him, “Growing up I spent most of my time in the library tower of my home in Winterfell.”

He nods and looks away, rubbing his chin in thought, “You stay here and amuse yourself for a while then. I’ll send Eindride in here after you before long.”

“Alright,” Sansa says as she watches him go curiously. He was an odd man for sure, full of secrets. All people had secrets though, and Aodhfin was no different.

 

 

 

 


	5. The Barrow King's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everybody! I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Just so everyone knows, Sansa is aged up and is twenty years old, and Jon is twenty-three.

“The Ice gate,” Mariska says without much flourish as she and Sansa stand before the tall icy wall. “It’s sealed so only a white walker can open it.” To Sansa it looked like a solid wall of ice hollowed and carved to look as if two enormous double doors should be there, but no doors were in sight. “We aren’t allowed beyond this point ever. You’d get in a lot of trouble if you went out there; they’ve got ice spiders and the undead out there. They’ve got wicked things in their army Sansa…evil things. Ergor’s a good man sometimes I suppose, but he dabbles in things he ought not to.”

“How long have you been here anyways?” Sansa asks as she stares up at the gate with wonder.

“Years,” Mariska says quietly, “I’ve been trapped here for years.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa frowns at her, “you must miss your family.”

“I do,” she agrees with a nod, “lost my brothers to the white walkers…don’t know what happened to my parents.”

               They walk together back up towards the upper chambers, talking of their families and their homes. From the sound of it, Sansa thinks she might just want to go live with the Wildlings too. They seemed far more civilized at this point then the people of Westeros. They sit in her private chambers and eat lunch, which was some kind of odd looking meat Mariska claims is bear meat, but never the less it tasted it delicious. Mariska was a cook back home, and Sansa thinks Wildling food is really very good.

“How come I never see any of them eat or drink anything?” Sansa asks as she chews quietly.

“They don’t need too, do they?” Mariska smiles faintly as she eats, “They don’t eat very often like we do, they don’t get tired all that much and they don’t feel pain like we do. I once watched one of em stab himself in the foot by accident. Didn’t even flinch, just yanked it out and stuck it back in his sheath.”

“Oh,” Sansa blinks as she sets her plate aside, “They can’t feel anything?”

“Sure they can,” Mariska says, “I just don’t think they feel it the same way we do. They’re made of ice aren’t they? Pain won’t hurt them the same way. I think they can love though, and hate. Ergor loves Tesha doesn’t he? They love their son….they just don’t express emotion the way we do.”

“Odd,” Sansa says thoughtfully as she stares at her folded hands.

“A little,” Mariska nods and shrugs as she stands, “I’m off then; I need to feed the others.”

“Bye,” Sansa smiles faintly at her as she goes. When she is alone she sits on the window ledge and stares out at the wide expanse of frozen land, the icy air in her face and the wind carries tiny flakes of snow on its back, drifting through her hair.  Below she can see people, mostly the armies and some white walkers as they go about their business. One in particular is Eindride; he was sparring with someone from what she could tell. The way he fought looked more like a dance then a battle, it was beautiful to watch. His shining icy blade blurred so quickly and so fiercely she was fascinated.  She isn’t sure how long she watches him, but a knock at the door distracts her from it.

               When she looks back, she expects Mariska. What she sees is a pale woman with silver gold hair floating on the breeze well past her waist. She is clothed in a gown that shimmered like ice and looked to be weaved by pure tiny snowflakes. Sansa watches her move, and the silence the room is deafening. These creatures were made of pure magic, Sansa thinks as she watches her.

“You are the one they call fire,” she says, her voice is low and soft.

“I’m Sansa,” she tells her in response, “I understand that my name in your language means fire however.”

“Sansa,” she says, rolling the name over her tongue, “That is a Northern name. Aodhfin tells me you are a _Stark_.” She touches Sansa’s hair, sliding the auburn locks through her fingers as she gazes upon Sansa’s face, “you don’t look like a Stark. All the Starks I ever knew had _dark_ hair and _dark_ eyes.” She turns away from Sansa and paces the room, watching Sansa watch her, “The only Starks I ever knew were greedy and power hungry. Are you like them?”

“No,” Sansa says wearily, “Those wars are long since over…we are a peaceful people now.”

“ _Peaceful_ ,” she laughs, tilting her head back just a little as she does before looking at Sansa, “The Starks killed many of my kin.”

“Well,” Sansa says nervously, unsure of how to speak to this woman. She seemed so serious, so judgmental, “I’m not a Stark anymore.”

The other woman smiles slow and amused as she watches Sansa, “That remains to be seen.” It was the culture of the winter children to abandon all hierarchy and house. Sansa hoped this would sooth the woman’s obvious dislike of her. “Tell me,” she says after a while, “do you know who I am?”

“Ergor’s wife,” Sansa replies evenly. She catches on quickly regardless of what type of court she was in. These people did not use titles; they believed themselves all equal to each other.

“Yes,” she nods, “I was once Tesha of House Rend. My Father was one of the Barrow Kings of old. I left that life behind me when I went with Ergor beyond the wall. It was a life of war and violence, and I won’t see it return in this place.”

“I lived the same life,” Sansa replies quietly, “My family is all but dead and my home has been taken from me. I don’t have anything left…” she sighs softly, looking quietly defeated, “I won’t cause any trouble.”

“You’d best not,” she replies and then softens as she looks watches the younger woman, “I know what it’s like to lose family. This place is different, we don’t believe in the things they hold so dearly in Westeros. My son likes you, and it’s high time he have children of his own. He’s never openly taken a woman before, you can imagine the conversations Ergor and I have had about that. You understand your place here I assume?”

“My place?” Sansa frowns, watching her wearily now.

“If he so deems it, you’ll bear his children. It won’t be easy either,” Tesha sighs aloud, “our kind has great difficulty bearing children but you are human, I imagine it might be easier for you.”

It was a silent slap in the face, but not unexpected. Eindride was always kind to her, and Mariska had warned her of the ways of white walkers and the women they took.

“What?” Tesha smiles faintly, “you _are_ young aren’t you? Did you think he was smitten with you? I suppose he is…all that hair of yours…it’s like fire. He’s only kind to you because he’s trying to make you like him. If you trust him you’ll be more willing to bear him children, it’s easier that way.” Sansa is silent as Tesha turns to leave, pausing at the door to look at her solemnly now, “don’t take it personal Sansa. It is our way…we have few women as it is, we take what we can get.” Then she is gone and Sansa watches the door click shut quietly after her.

No matter where she goes, it’s always the same.

 

* * *

 

               That evening he visits again and she sits with him by the cold flames in the hearth, teaching him words in the common tongue. She was getting better at understanding him now; she could recognize the different patterns in his language that defined whether he was angry or happy. Anger was usually a wild blizzard of words and joy was slow and sweet like the first snow fall in the summer. Sorrow was the mournful howl of the icy wind outside. She couldn’t mimic those sounds very well and it made him laugh every time she tried. In the back of her mind she wondered about him, wondered what he was really planning to do with her. Would he up and decide one evening that he was done waiting around for her to like him and treat her as Ramsay had done? It frightened her, those thoughts. He was so kind to her, it was hard to fathom him behaving that way with her.

               She tries very hard to keep from flinching when he drew close to her, when he twisted patterns in the air and made snowflakes dance over the blue flames of the hearth. It was a beautiful sight, she could tell he was trying to tell her a story about something he’d seen or done during the day. When he reaches for her hand she stiffens and unstiffens simultaneously, trying desperately to hide her reactions to him. She couldn’t help it sometimes, every time he got near her she heard Tesha’s words echoing in her head.

If he noticed it he did not let on.

               Instead his smooth pale hand holds hers and he turns it palm up before tracing her fingers with the tip of one of his own, his skin leaving a cool trail across her warm skin as he goes. Before long he lets go, least he burn her skin. He seems frustrated for some reason, and she wonders if her hand was trembling _that_ badly when he held it. Then he stands, sliding a hand through his long silver hair before his blue eyes watch her for a moment longer. “ _Meesszzna_.”

“I’m not tired,” Sansa tells him with a little frown as she turns her gaze to the hearth instead. Sometimes he was too beautiful to look at, and beautiful things often were a disguise for wickedness as she’d learned so quickly back in Westeros.

She hears him sigh and turn away, the door creaking open as he leaves. When she looks back he’s watching her from the door, perplexed and thoughtful. “ _Meeesszzzna_.” He says again pointedly, nodding towards the bed in the corner before he turns and leaves.

“ _Bossy_ ,” Sansa scoffs as he goes and then aches to gobble the words right back up when he freezes in the doorway mid-step. She hadn’t realized he’d understand that word, but apparently he does.

He turns and looks at her, leaning back through the doorway with a quirked eyebrow, “ _Me….Bossy_?”

She just gaps at him, never having heard him utter a single word in the common tongue before, “Yes…” she tells him, “I’m not tired and you’re _bossy_.”

“You…” he pauses, looking frustrated as he searches for the words, “ _sleep_.”

Sansa huffs and he just stares her down. “Oh fine,” she scowls as she stands, stalking towards the little bed in the corner. He watches her until she’s in bed and adjusting the furs over her lap, his glowing blue eyes bright as a little smirk curves his lips. He nods and leaves, shutting the door behind him as he goes.

“ _Bossy_ ,” Sansa murmurs beneath her breath but freezes when she hears the whispering sound of wind outside her door and thinks for a brief moment that he was laughing at her.

 

* * *

 

               In truth, though Sansa will never admit it to him ever, she was exhausted the night before. She hadn’t realized it till she lies down in the soft furs, and within minutes she was asleep. When the morning comes, Mariska wakes her, setting a bowl of hot broth and a basin of warm water for her to wash with. “Get up already lazy bones,” Mariska calls as she rekindles the fire in the hearth, “You’re going with Aodhfin today. It’s a real treat when old Ergor lets anyone beyond the Ice gate.  Aodhfin’s taking you down to the shoreline today. He’s convinced Ergor you need to get your barring’s if you’re gonna fit in here.”

“I get to leave?” Sansa blinks at her, sipping at the broth, “Go _outside_?”

It’s been weeks since Sansa’s been outside, cooped up in either the library or the private chambers she’d been assigned too. She wasn’t allowed to leave without permission or go anywhere without permission. She wasn’t allowed to go _anywhere_ without an escort it seemed like. Aodhfin had told her it was for her own safety, Eindride did not trust the other men in his Father’s court. They knew it was treason to touch her, but they’d try it anyways. They were that way with all human women; they had no respect for humans in general. If Sansa had been a winter child they’d be as kind to her as they were to anyone else.

“Yep,” Mariska grins at her, “you lucky bird.”

She’s quick to finish her breakfast and get dressed; neatly styling her hair so it swung in a heavy braid down her back. She pulls on a heavy fur lined cloak; the one Eindride had given her weeks ago and then yanks the hood up, pulling the braid over one shoulder. “I’m ready when you are.”

“That was fast,” Mariska laughs, “you excited or something?”

“Of course,” Sansa tells her, “I haven’t been outside in _weeks_.”

“It’s not all that grand believe me,” Mariska scoffs, “It reeks of rotting things and the ice spiders are horribly venomous. Mind them…keep your distance. Aodhfin will show you what to do.”

 

* * *

 

               She was excited to leave right up until the putrid smell of rot greeted her nose as she and Aodhfin step through the Ice gate, one of the guards placing a hand on the ice so that it draws back to let them through. Sansa covers her nose, grimacing at the smell. Aodhfin catches her by the elbow and pulls her along the wall of the great cavern where they came from, all the way down the hill towards the shivering sea behind it. “Don’t touch the ice,” he warns as he points towards the icy wind whipping violently just beyond the shoreline, “it’s a perimeter….like an alarm.  You step into that and you’ll be lost for good, that and the wind is so strong that the ice will rip you to shreds.”

They walk along the shoreline, Sansa trudging her way through the snow along beside him. “That,” he says after a time, “is what I suppose you people would call a sparring yard.” They stand on a hill above a circular ring carved into the snow, where two men with icy swords step around each other, swinging and turning with lightning speed. “They’re fast buggers for sure,” Aodhfin laughs a little, “ _I’d_ never want to be in a fight with one of em.”

“So,” Sansa says quietly as they walk, a question forming in her head as they go. Mariska has been open about her life, full of vibrant talk of her brothers and her family before they died. Aodhfin has been so quiet that she can’t help but be suspicious. When people are quiet in Westeros, especially in King’s Landing, it meant they had secrets to keep. Sansa could never trust anyone like that, and she found herself incapable of trusting him until she understood him better. “You’ve…been here all your life?”

“Yes,” he nods, “since I was a boy.”

“And…it’s just been you?” Sansa quirks a brow at him, “you and Mariska…”

“Oh no,” he laughs, “She’s hardly my type. I like em busty and wild,” he laughs at the pink that brightens Sansa’s cheeks, “and if you’re offering I’ll have to decline, I’d rather not Eindride take my head off because you were feeling a wee bit lonely.” He smiles faintly when he notices Eindride watching them from across the yard, his bright blue eyes glowing in the pale light of the day.

“I’m not offering,” Sansa sputters indignantly, blinking up at him, “I was just…I mean…you never talk about yourself. If you and Mariska are the only two people that can actually speak the common tongue and are willing to talk to me, it would be nice to know who you are is all. I spent the majority of my younger years fighting my way through Kings Landing and that _horrid_ court with those insufferably miserable greedy people fighting over that _monstrosity_ of a throne. When somebody is keeping secrets, it’s usually a bad thing. That’s what I learned while trying to survive the court of the King.” Sansa sighs, turning away from him, anger burning in her cheeks as she remembers those dark days vividly, “I can never trust anyone the way I used too.”

“That’s a good thing then,” Aodhfin says quietly as he watches her, “Never trust anyone Sansa…not me, not Mariska…not anyone. People are deceiving…you don’t know me, you don’t know Mariska…you don’t know our lives before we came here. Though if you want to play _that_ game lass, I don’t know you either. I don’t know your life before you came here. If you’re willing to share with me, I’ll share with you.”

“Then _ask_ me,” Sansa sighs, turning to look at him.

“Who was your Father?” he says, watching her thoughtfully.

“Eddard Stark,” Sansa replies evenly, “and yours?”

“They called him Edwin The Bear,” Aodhfin replies, “because he was blood thirsty and enjoyed battle. Who was your Mother?”

“Caitlyn Tully,” Sansa replies softly, “and you?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “My Pa got around a lot. He took me from her when I was a wee babe and left me with one of his wives to be taken care of. What did you believe when you came to the court of the King?”

“What?” Sansa frowns in confusion.

“You heard me,” he says as he steps closer, his gaze intent, “what did you think it would be?”

“Like the songs,” Sansa admits softly, “I thought it would be like the songs.”

He scoffs and turns away, shaking his head, “little fool you were then.”

“I was,” she nods, “it was horrible.”

“What did they do to you?” he frowns as he looks at her.

“When Joffrey sat the throne he used to punish me for my brother’s triumphs. One time he had be stripped naked before the court and publically beaten by one of his Kingsguard.”

“Bastard,” he sneers and spits, “Miserable little shit.”

“You have no idea,” Sansa says, staring down at the sparring yard. Eindride was watching them; he was up next for a sparring match.

“Tell me about the court now,” he says softly, “who’s running it?”

“Why does it matter?” Sansa frowns as she looks at him, “why do you even care? You’re a wildling.”

“Ergor cares,” Aodhfin says without looking at her, “Now tell me, everything you know. Who’s in power right now?”

“King Tommen,” Sansa says softly, “but he’s a bastard of Jaime Lannister and Cersei Lannister. Cersei passed all her children off as Roberts but they weren’t.” Sansa scoffs as she remembers, a bitter smile on her lips, “they don’t even _look_ like Robert Baratheon.”

Aodhfin chuckles darkly as he ponders her words, “fucking idiot then if he didn’t realize his wife was fucking her brother.”

“I never said that they were siblings,” Sansa frowns, her gaze swinging towards his face.

Aodhfin shrugs, “its common knowledge, if you know where to look. Ergor’s got spies everywhere…you think your safe behind that wall? You think he can’t find out what’s going on there without actually crossing beyond it?” Aodhfin laughs and shakes his head, “You people are fucked if you think _that_.”

Sansa grimaces at his language and turns away, Aodhfin laughing at her discomfort, “what, you don’t like that? Am I not being gentle enough for your _delicate_ sensibilities? Proper lady aren’t you? I bet your piss smells roses too. You people think you’re so _perfect_ and clean and powerful…”

“Stop it,” Sansa snaps, anger overriding reason, “ _Shut up_!”

“ _Finally_ ,” he laughs at her outrage, “I was wondering how far I’d have to push you before you dropped that delicate helpless maiden act.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” Sansa frowns at him, “what have I _ever_ done to you?”

“It’s not what you did,” he glowers at the ground instead of at her, “it’s what---…” he cuts off and looks up as Eindride climbs the hill towards them, sword in his hand as he looks between the two of them.

“Eindride,” Sansa greets him as he approaches and he smiles at her before turning his gaze towards Aodhfin. His words are harsh and guttural, glancing at Sansa occasionally before looking back at Aodhfin.

Aodhfin laughs a little and shakes his head before looking at Sansa, “He thinks I’m being an asshole to you. He wants to know why you look so upset.”

“He is being an _asshole_!” Sansa snaps and stalks off past both of them, pleased by the shock of surprise on Aodhfin’s face as she goes.  She doesn’t hear him behind her but he’s there nonetheless, Eindride catching her by the shoulder and turning her around to face him.

“You…angry?” he asks, frowning at her as he points towards Aodhfin, “Offend?”

“ _Asshole_ ,” Sansa points at Aodhfin as she looks at Eindride, “That’s the word you use for him in the common tongue.”

“ _Asshole_ ,” he repeats, looking perplexed.

Behind them Aodhfin laughs and says, “I believe the word your searching for is _Yuusseezzi_.”

Eindride’s head whips around to look at Aodhfin sharply, glaring daggers in his direction before Aodhfin adds in the windy ice language as best he can, “ _Uuunneseea vee maufuseezz_.” It wasn’t a perfect match of course, as humans could not speak the language of the winter children. It sounded very little like the beautiful solemn storm of words Eindride whispers. Yet Eindride can understand it well enough to know what he’s saying at least.

“Why can _you_ speak it and I can’t?” Sansa glowers at Aodhfin.

“I’ve been teaching,” Aodhfin points out, “have _you_ been listening?”

“You know,” Sansa glowers at Aodhfin who watches her expectantly, “You….you….” she’s losing wind and she knows it, reason was slowly catching up with her, “you are a _very_ mean person.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Aodhfin laughs, mockingly offended, “I’m hurt…you’re words cut me to the bone _Milady_.”

Between them, Eindride is glowering at both of them now, clearly trying to keep up with the conversation and failing miserably. Finally he steps in her line of sight, blocking Aodhfin from view. Gently he reaches out, slow as not to frighten her, his pale hand cupping her cheek as he says, “Offend?”

“No,” Sansa sighs, unable to resist flinching when he touches her. She curses inwardly for doing it, and double when she sees the frustration on Eindride’s face when he notices. It was hard to trust anyone when you felt like they might have a hidden agenda. Everyone in King’s Landing had one; it wouldn’t surprise her if these people did too. She tries very hard not to make it obvious when she steps away from Eindride, hoping his irritation with Aodhfin will distract him. Quietly she turns away and walks back towards the Ice gate, careful to stay near the wall to avoid the Ice spiders.

Behind her she can hear Aodhfin running to catch up, yanking her back by the arm and glowering at her angrily, “You don’t go anywhere without me, what part of that didn’t you understand? I don’t give a _fuck_ if you’re angry with me; if you get eaten by one of those fucking things Eindride will kill me.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Sansa scowls up at him, “You’re just like the rest of them aren’t you? Hidden motives, secret agendas…the greed never ends does it? Everyone is _always_ out for themselves.”

“Where is this coming from anyways?” he frowns at her, “why are you so upset?”

“ _Why_?” Sansa feels the rising tide of anger flood her system again, but instead she clings to her manners and bites down on the bitter words dancing on her tongue, “Take me back now please.”

“Tell me,” he demands angrily.

“Please,” Sansa clears her throat, “I just want to be alone for a while.”

 

* * *

 

               He returns her without a word, frowning at her back the whole time. He was willing her to answer him but she refused to give into the temptation. He seemed so elated when she dropped the act and let him have it. She was ashamed of herself now; the way she’d acted was completely childish. She hasn’t longed to tell someone off like that since she was twelve and Arya was driving her completely mad. Mariska comes in shortly after, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup. She watches her wearily, frowning at her.

“What?” Sansa asks quietly as she eats.

“Nothing,” Mariska shakes her head, “Just heard you got into it with Aodhfin out near the sparring yard today….Eindride’s learned a new word.”

“Oh bother,” Sansa drops her face into her hands, “I’m so _ashamed_.”

“Is that why he keeps calling Aodhfin an asshole?” Mariska smiles a little.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sansa huffs aloud, “I was so angry…I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“It is kind of funny though,” Mariska grins at her, “That’s how he addresses him now and Aodhfin keeps telling him that it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. Personally I think Eindride’s doing it on purpose…I think he knows _exactly_ what it means.”

“So do I,” Sansa smiles wryly as she looks at her, “is he really doing that?”

“Oh yeah,” Mariska grins.

               They are quite for a long while, Mariska cleans and scrubs the floors and the hearth before rekindling the flames. Then she stands and takes her bucket, wishing Sansa a good night before she leaves. It’s late before Sansa goes to sleep, surprised by Eindride’s absence. It worries her that maybe she offended him somehow. It’s near midnight however when he comes, and this time he isn’t alone. Mariska is with him, and he looks positively thunderous as he speaks, long winded words in the winter language that Mariska is desperately trying to translate for him.

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” Mariska tells him pleadingly, “you’re talking to fast!” She frowns in concentration, wrinkling her nose in confusion before she looks at Sansa, “He says….something about being offended…and he thinks you’re…afraid of him?”

“What?” Sansa asks, rolling over in bed to sit up. Her hair is a mess and she blushes as she runs her fingers through it, trying to smooth it down.

“I don’t know!” Mariska groans, “I just want him to stop _shouting_ at me!”

“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” Aodhfin’s shouting can be heard from down the hall.  He pauses when he sees Eindride, looking almost sheepish as he lowers his voice, “What’s wrong?” Eindride’s voice is a flurry of words and ice, and by the time he’s done Aodhfin frowns at him and then at Sansa. “He says…you’re afraid of him and he wants to know why. He wants to know what he did to make you scared.”

“I’m not scared…” Sansa says softly.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Aodhfin frowns at her, “stop lying to me and just tell me the truth. I want to go back to sleep and I can’t with this one shouting the fucking roof down.”

“His Mother was here,” Sansa admits quietly, “she told me why I’m here.”

Aodhfin blinks, stares and then grits his teeth angrily before he repeats what she said to Eindride. Eindride turns his blue gaze towards Sansa, his eyes suddenly shimmering, nearly white. Aodhfin steps back and away, cautiously watching the way the ice suddenly creeps across the floor around him. He swings an arm out and pushes Mariska behind him, wearily watching the other man.

“Sansa,” Aodhfin says quietly, “stay on that bed and don’t move and for fuck’s sake, don’t look scared no matter how you feel.”

Sansa watches Eindride nervously and tries very hard to keep from trembling. He’s watching her so intently she thinks he might actually be angry with _her_. Then suddenly he turns on heel and storms out.

“Oooh _fuck_ ,” Aodhfin says worriedly as he follows Eindride hurriedly out the door and down the hall. Sansa and Mariska sit in the silence for a long while, and then suddenly there is shouting and the sound of a violent blizzard two floors beneath them.

“That sounds like Tesha!” Mariska jumps to her feet, rushing towards the door.

“What do you hear?” Sansa asks, following her as they both stop at the door and lean out in the hall to listen. Everything seemed to echo through the cavern, the tunnels and halls were all interconnected with each other.

“Sounds like…she was telling him off for being rude to you cuse he didn’t tell you what  you were here for….and he’s mad because she just presumed what he wanted from you and went and frightened you away from him.” Mariska frowns and looks back at her thoughtfully, “why _are_ you scared of him anyways?”

“My last husband raped and abused me,” Sansa says quietly, “he wanted to use me as a breeding tool as well.”

“Oh,” Mariska frowns, “I can understand that then…I’d be a bit nervous myself. I don’t think Eindride’s out to use you like that though…your awfully untrusting you know.”

“I have good reason to be,” Sansa sighs, “if you lived in the court of the King, you’d be that way too.”

“Yeah,” Mariska says softly, “but this ain’t the court of the King. There is no hierarchy here Sansa. You ain’t a lady no more, you ain’t Stark here…your just Sansa here. You have to let all that go now.”

“Easier said than done,” Sansa whispers quietly, “I’ve spent so long being paranoid of people it’s become a reflex.”

“Only people you gotta worry about here are the ones who are stupid enough to attack you despite Eindride’s orders, and Aodhfin when he’s had one to many cups…gets a bit handsy if you know what I mean,” Mariska grins wryly at her.

“I don’t even want to consider that,” Sansa laughs, remembering Aodhfin’s comments from earlier, “He thought I was flirting with him today.”

“He’s so full of himself,” Mariska scoffs, “what a prick.”

“Indeed,” Sansa agrees with a sigh, “Hear anything?”

“Nope,” Mariska shakes her head, “I think the arguments over.”

“I hope he doesn’t set me aside,” Sansa murmurs quietly, worriedly, “I didn’t mean to make him angry.”

“He’s not mad at you,” Mariska sighs as she looks at Sansa, “He’s just angry that his Mum came in here and scared the shit out of you.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Sansa sighs softly.

“Me too,” Mariska agrees, “I need some sleep, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Sansa smiles faintly and watches her go before climbing back into her bed and pull the furs up over her shoulders.

She hoped tomorrow would be better.


	6. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

She keeps finding books in the oddest places. Sometimes they’re sitting at her bedside when she wakes, sometimes they’ll be sitting on the balcony ledge where she likes to sit, and sometimes they’re on the mantel above the hearth. Someone was bringing her books, books of poetry and history and music. Most of them were in High Valyrian, some of them were in the common tongue but so old Sansa had to squint to read the words. She hasn’t left her room in over a week, neither has she seen Eindride. It makes her heart heavy to think he’s abandoned her; she would miss her new friend.

“You look like a shit,” Mariska says one morning when she brings Sansa her breakfast, “at least comb your hair or something.”

“Why bother,” Sansa sighs quietly, “I’ll be cast down into the caverns for certain now.”

“All the more reason to comb your hair,” Mariska scoffs, “if you go down there looking like a rabid animal none of them men will pick you. You want to be picked believe me, it’ll get you out of the caverns quicker.” She watches the other woman thoughtfully as Sansa turns the page in a book on her lap and continues to read before she adds, “he’s not getting rid of you, if that’s what you think.”

“I do think that actually,” Sansa tells her, “I haven’t seen him in over a week and he often visits me after his work for the day.”

“He’s not here,” Mariska tells her, “He’s gone out on a range with his Father. They’re gone for a while…probably a month or so. That’s how long they usually go.”

“Oh,” Sansa says, blinking at her.

“And before you get whiny because he didn’t say goodbye, he did,” Mariska tells her pointedly, “you were asleep.”

“Oh,” Sansa says again as she watches Mariska clean out the hearth.

“And I was trying very hard not to be nosy while he was just sitting there staring at you,” Mariska grins wryly at her, “but I’m thoroughly incapable of it. He was singing to you again.”

Sansa smiles a little as she stares at the book in her lap, “he doesn’t hate me.”

“I seriously doubt it, unless that was him serenading you some kind of war song of doom,” Mariska laughs a little, “Although Ergor likes to kick up a good storm before he fights a battle. I wouldn’t be surprised if Eindride takes after him.”

Sometimes when she sleeps she hears a low hum in her dreams. It was like the heartbeat of nature, the thrum of magic in the walls of the caverns where the winter children live. Sansa likes to hum along with it, she does it unintentionally sometimes, like it was an instinct long forgotten and dormant within her. She wonders if Mariska can hear it too, or if that was only her.  “Mariska….can you hear that?” Sansa asks after a time curiously, “That humming noise?”

“That’s the ice,” Mariska tells her, blinking curiously at her, “you can _hear_ that?”

“Yes,” Sansa says softly, “Can’t you?”

“No,” Mariska frowns at her, “what sort of human are you anyways? You shouldn’t be able to hear it…that’s _magic_ humming in the walls. The winter children are made of the stuff. Old Aodhfin can hear it cuse he’s got children blood on his Mam’s side. I ain’t never seen another human who could hear it though.”

“There are old stories that my family is descended from the children,” Sansa tells her softly.

“Well that explains it then I suppose,” Mariska shrugs, “try not to listen to intently…it’ll catch you up in its spell and you’ll get stuck. Aodhfin got stuck once…was like he was in some kind of trance, humming along…he started to freeze over. I had to go get Ergor to get him out.”

Sansa nods, storing that information in the back of her mind. The humming was beautiful but dangerous, important information and she was glad to have asked Mariska about it. Finally with a little effort she decides to clean herself up, pulling on a heavy wool gown and braiding her hair back in a loose French braid. “I want go to the library…do you think Aodhfin will take me?”

“Maybe,” Mariska shrugs, “if you tell Eindride to stop calling him an asshole.”

“He’s _still_ doing that?” Sansa giggles, she can’t help herself.

“Yeah,” Mariska grins, “you should see how awkward the council meetings are.”

 

* * *

 

               With much persuasion and a promise to correct Eindride’s language issues, Aodhfin takes Sansa to the library and leaves her there to her own devices for a few hours. When he returns for her (as he locked her in to ensure nobody would bother her) he finds her sitting amidst a stack of scrolls towards the very back corner.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he watches her curiously.

“I found these,” Sansa tells him, “some of these are very old…they’re all the way back from the First Men. Bran the Builder wrote these…” Sansa says in awe as she turns to look at him, “How in the blazes haven’t these turn to _dust_?”

“It’s freezing in here isn’t it?” he says to her, “the cold is good for more than keeping food from spoiling.” He leans over her shoulder, frowning deeper when he spots what she’s currently reading, “That’s from Asshai isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sansa muses aloud, “thought it would be worth a read. It’s about Azor Ahai.”

“And what do you make of it then?” he quirks a brow at her, “prophecy and world ending doom and all.”

“it’s nonsense,” Sansa tells him, “there isn’t any such thing as a prophecy.”

“Of course there is,” he tells her, “even wildlings know that.”

“You’re awfully literate for a wildling,” Sansa tells him thoughtfully, “where did you learn all of it?”

“Like I told you,” he says, “I grew up here and I had a library like this to teach me anything I ever wanted to know. I was never like me Pa, I didn’t want to just go off and fight and fuck and drink. I wanted to _learn_ something…know about the world I live in.”

“ _You_ taught yourself your letters?” Sansa says skeptically.

“Yes,” he glowers at her irritably, “you think I’m stupid or something? I can teach myself anything I want to know,” he tells her pointedly before he adds after a pause, “Although Ergor might’ve helped me a wee bit.”

Sansa grins a little as she turns her gaze back down to the scroll, “Thought so.”

“Nosy,” he scowls at her back and turns to pace the library, “why you so interested in prophecies all of a sudden?”

“Not really interested,” Sansa replies, “just thoughtful. Everyone in Westeros thinks the winter children are some kind of great evil darkness descending upon the land. I want to know what they really are.”

“You don’t think they’re evil?” he quirks a brow at her, “Look at you…you’re learning something. Your looking in the wrong place by the way….all Asshai will tell you are the same things over and over about Azor Ahai. The winter children don’t exist in any book, they’re like the children of the forest. Creatures of nature.”

“You don’t think Azor Ahai will come and save us from the evil darkness?” She smiles playfully up at him though he didn’t look particularly amused. Instead he looked solemn and thoughtful.

“The wildlings believe there’s an evil out there,” he tells her quietly, “and it’ll destroy everything. It is the winter children or so I believe…regardless of how kind they seem. One day they’ll conquer all of Westeros and everyone will die.”

Sansa’s smile fades as she watches him watch her, he looked so haunted as he gazed down upon her, “You’re frightened of them aren’t you?”

“Sometimes,” he answers honestly, “Ergor’s got a lot of power and he’s only getting stronger.”

“Good thing were on this side of the war then isn’t it?” Sansa smiles faintly, but her heart weighs heavy. “I’ve nothing left on the other side of that wall save my enemies. I suppose Ergor would make it easier for me to reclaim my home.”

“This isn’t about _Winterfell_ Sansa,” Aodhfin scowls at her, “this is about the lives of every last person in Westeros. The crows won’t be able to stop Ergor from breaching the fucking wall if he wanted in! We’re running out of time, and Ergor will soon have enough to overrun Westeros. Everyone who’s slain will simply get right back up again and start fighting for him. Stop being so petty about the slights of stupid greedy people and think about the bigger picture here for a moment will you?”

“I have had great wrongs done to me,” Sansa says coldly, ice dripping along her words, “I have been treated like a dog for years of my life. Don’t presume to think me so petty, you know little about me Aodhfin.”

“I’m not going to tell you what they did doesn’t matter because it does Sansa,” Aodhfin replies quietly, “but Ergor, though he’s a good man, he’s also vicious. He and his kind hate humans, they want us all dead. Ergor won’t stop till he’s eradicated them, and you don’t see the children of the forest lifting a finger to stop him do you? They _want_ him to win, because it means they can go _home_.”

“What do you _care_!” Sansa snaps and stands, turning to look at him, “you’re a _wildling_! You don’t even live on that side of the wall. I thought all wildlings hated us.”

“Wildling…Westrosi…it doesn’t matter,” he says as he steps closer, his gaze meeting hers, “In the end were all fodder for his armies.”

This shuts her up quickly and she just stares at him staring at her, “Have you been bringing me books?” She wanted to change the subject, it was getting uncomfortable and she didn’t want them to argue again.

“I have,” he tells her, “you were bored.”

“You actually cared if I was bored?” Sansa scoffs aloud, “I taught Eindride to call you an asshole for _weeks_.”

“That was a dirty trick mind you,” he says, “you need to correct him on it though I think he knows what it means and he’s just doing it to spite me.” He smirks down at her before continuing, an amused glint in his eyes, “I bet you ran right back up to your room afterwards too, all contrite and _ashamed_. I bet you felt just _awful_ acting like yourself rather than the genteel little lady your Mam taught you to be.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a lady,” Sansa scowls up at him.

“Oh no,” he rolls his eyes, “not at all…why do anything for yourself when you can sit around eating cakes and smelling like a rose while the peasants are the ones who clean out your chamber pot and wipe your ass and wash your clothes. You highborn bitches are all the same; you have no want or drive to do _anything_ for yourself. You’d rather just be the damsel in distress.”

“I can be a lady and also be strong,” Sansa glowers up at him, “just because I cannot wield a sword or fight a war doesn’t mean I’m not a warrior in my own right. My battle ground is that of the King’s court and I _won_. Just because I was beaten and bruised did not mean I lost that war, nobody walks away from a battle without a few scratches.”

He just gaps at her and she shoves past him angrily, stalking towards the library doors. He turns and catches up with her, “Oi,” he calls irritably, “you canna’ go anywhere without me! It’ll be on my head if something happens to you!” He catches her by the elbow as she reaches for the door, tugging her back gently towards him, “I’m sorry…” he says after a pause, “it was wrong of me to just assume.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to simply write me off,” Sansa says softly, “I’m happy with who I am, there’s nothing wrong with liking dresses or curling my hair. Just because I like those things doesn’t make me stupid or weak.”

Aodhfin sighs, rubbing his face tiredly, “Let’s get you back to your rooms.”

Sansa nods as he opens the door, ushering her out into the wall. “When will Eindride be back?” she asks as they walk.

“Not for a few weeks I suppose,” he tells her softly, “and I’d be grateful if you didn’t look so angry with me whenever he gets back….he has a tendency to make my life miserable when he thinks I’ve offended you.”

“You _have_ offended me,” Sansa rolls her eyes and yelps in surprise when he bumps her playfully, smirking at her mischievously.

“Who’s to say I haven’t been offended?” he says, batting his eyelashes at her, “I’m a sensitive man you know. I don’t like it when a lady shouts at me as you’ve done.”

“I’m no lady,” Sansa scoffs a little but feels odd saying it. The people here don’t believe in titles, and it was slowly starting to wear off on Sansa, “I’m just Sansa.”

“Yes you are,” he agrees as they reach her bed chamber doors, “good girl…your learning.”

 

* * *

 

               In the following weeks she spends less time in her chambers and more time in the library. She throws herself into it, organizing books by title and content because she has nothing else to do and Aodhfin certainly wasn’t going to do it. He thinks it’s amusing that she’s doing it at all, but is mindful to watch her because he doesn’t want her touching books that might actually hurt her. Aside from that he’s gone with the others, busy dealing with translation duties while Sansa scours the library for every reference to the Long Night and anything involving white walkers she can find. Aodhfin was right about one thing, white walkers aren’t in any book anywhere. She’s found plenty on the Long Night though, but nothing that was very helpful.

               When Eindride returns, there are new additions to the household. One is a wildling woman named Hrelena, who was a meek and as quiet as a mouse. Sansa tries her best to sooth her fears but she’d hear none of it. Eindride was absent still, but Sansa knew he was back with his Father from their range. She watches him sometimes from the window ledge while he practices in the sparring yard, and sometimes he’ll look up and watch her too. It made her sad that he was avoiding her, it frightened her too.

“Not like that!” Mariska scowls at Hrelena, “you’ve got to sweep the soot out first!”

Sansa glances back and watches Mariska train Hrelena, looking frustrated with her, “Honestly I don’t know why Eindride brought her back with him. She’s ridiculous.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Hrelena scowls at Mariska, “I don’t use fireplaces where I’m from do I?”

“I’m a wildling too you ninny,” Mariska scowls at her, “I know what we do and don’t use!”

“Oh stop arguing will you?” Sansa rolls her eyes, “you two are impossible.”

“She started it!” Mariska points at Hrelena, “She’s being deliberately obstinate.”

“Some gift she makes then,” Aodhfin chuckles when he steps into the room.

“Gift?” Sansa blinks at him curiously.

“Yeah,” he grins at her, “Eindride sent me up to see how his gift is working out for you.”

“Hrelena is….a _gift_?” Sansa looks almost horrified at the thought.

“He thought you’d be lonely,” he shrugs, “he went out and found you a friend.”

“And what am I then?” Mariska says indignantly, “a _chair_?”

               Sansa frowns at the thought of Hrelena. Humans weren’t gifts to be given out, they were people. Hrelena wasn’t particularly happy being here anyways. Though if she tried to reject his gift he might get offended or think she _really_ wasn’t happy with him at all.  That and she’d probably be sent down to the caverns and be far more miserable there then she was here with Sansa.

“You’re both my friends,” Sansa says softly, “Hrelena…you don’t have to do that if you don’t want too. Though you need to mind Mariska from time to time. She’ll help you get along here like she helped me.” Hrelena couldn’t have been more then fifteen or sixteen, with wild sandy blond hair and bright green eyes.

“Fine,” Hrelena huffs as she looks at Mariska, “you ready _your highness_ or are we to scrub the shitter too?”

“You’re disgusting,” Mariska glowers up at Hrelena, “come on then you, we’ve got other work to do.”

Sansa watches them go with a sigh, leaving her alone with Aodhfin. He’s watching her watch Eindride down in the sparring yard with mild interest. “If you care about him all you’d have to do is tell him. He’s probably afraid to come up here. His Mum laid it all out for him…he doesn’t want you thinking he’s only here for your sweet bits…though you _do_ have sweet bits…that’s not the point though,” he chuckles and dodges when Sansa swats at him playfully.

“He can’t even touch me without burning me,” Sansa tells him, “I don’t know how he thinks we’d do anything like that honestly,” Sansa replies softly.

“There are ways,” Aodhfin says softly, “its not easy though….slow and painful more like. Ergor can change you in an instant but that’s agony…it’s like having ice water in your veins….burns like a bitch.”

“What are you saying?” Sansa blinks at him curiously.

“I’m saying he could make you like him,” Aodhfin says with a nod towards Eindride, “he could make you a winter child but not without consequences of course. It’ll be slow and sometimes it’ll hurt. I’ve seen it done once before…sometimes they don’t survive the change.”

“All that talk of dislike for Ergor’s power,” Sansa says softly, “why don’t you do something if you’re afraid of him making more?”

“I can’t,” Aodhfin admits, “it’s an arrangement we have between each other.” They watch the sparring yard for a moment before Eindride turns, his icy gaze on Aodhfin. He grimaces and looks away, glancing at Sansa, “Lover boy doesn’t like me up here with you I don’t think. Probably puts him off that you’re not scared of _me_ but you’ll hide under the blankets if _he_ shows up.”

“I don’t _hide_ under the blankets!” Sansa blurts out, looking flustered, “he just misunderstands is all…” Sansa trails off, understanding where Aodhfin was going with this. It was treason to bother someone’s woman here, and Eindride didn’t like the way Aodhfin was spending time with Sansa.  She mouths the word _go_ to him quietly, trying her best to look irritated with him as she looks away.  Aodhfin rolls his eyes and clears his throat, mockingly bowing to her like she’d said something that angered him before he turns and stalks off out the door.

It was really hard to hide the giggle behind her hand when he leaves. It was silly that they had to pretend with each other that way just to appease Eindride, but she agreed that she didn’t want him to kill Aodhfin just because he misinterpreted what was happening.

 

* * *

 

               Later that evening Sansa seeks him out, a kind of bravery she wasn’t sure she had in her. He’s sitting alone in the council hall which also doubled as place where everyone gathered to eat as well. He’s staring out the wide open windows, his gaze on the stars. He looked handsome and ethereal like that, his silver hair shimmering in the moonlight and his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. “Eindride,” Sansa says softly, quietly so as not to startle him. He wasn’t either way she figured as he turned to look at her, she was so much louder than his kind, he probably heard her coming from a mile away.  “I just….wanted to thank you for the gift you sent me.”

He stands, walking around the wide oval table to stand near her, much closer then should be appropriate. It was awkward at times; these people didn’t do personal space very well either. He cups her cheek and slides his fingers through her hair, careful never to keep his skin against hers for very long as he does so. Then she does something brave, something entirely reckless but she didn’t really care. She reaches out and touches his shimmering hair, it was smooth and cold like ice but soft like silk beneath her finger tips. It ends just beneath his shoulder blades and when the moonlight touched it she could swear there were tiny snowflakes in it. These people were made of pure magic, it was in there very blood.

If white walkers had blood that is.

               She doubted it though, considering the way that man had shattered into a million crystals when Eindride had killed him the first night at the outpost long ago.  Her fingers continue their journey, marveling at the feel of his shimmering armor. It reflected all light; it was a bizarre kaleidoscope of color that danced across his chest whenever the light touched it. It was hard like ice and just as cold, but stronger then even steel. They stood together in the dark with the moonlight dancing across their faces, his fingers dancing along her skin as lightly as he could manage and her own marveling at the feel of his smooth cold skin in the places between where his wrist bracers ended and the sleeve of his armor began. When he leans close, his lips inches from hers, slowly as to give her time to turn away, she tilts her head up and closes her eyes, her heart racing.

 _Bang_!

They jump apart and Eindride steps in front of her, his glowing blue eyes brightening with what Sansa thought might be irritation. His eyes narrow as she peers around his shoulder and realizes what he’s looking at. Aodhfin is sprawled on the floor, clumsily staggering to his feet and he runs a hand through his hair, “Sorry bout’ that…too much wine…did I interrupt something? I’ll be off then.”

Sansa watches him go, bewildered. Why had Aodhfin been in here at all? She didn’t remember seeing him, and surely Eindride would have noticed his presence? Quietly Eindride catches her by the arm and gently walks her back up to her rooms, staring straight ahead of him with his shimmering eyes burning like cold ice. “Don’t hurt him,” Sansa says softly, “he didn’t mean any harm…he was drunk.”

“ _Mussszzznna_ ,” he tells her, pointing towards her bed chamber doors, “ _sleep_.”

Sansa sighs, turning away from him as he turns to walk off. She’d finally got him to trust her a little and Aodhfin just _had_ to go stumbling in there at the wrong time. Now she worried what Eindride would do, whether he’d simply overlook the infraction or he’d assume it was intentional and a challenge.

Either way, Sansa had a feeling the outcome might be bleak for Aodhfin.

 


	7. Amnesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sansa tells Eindride softly, watching him ponder over the chessboard set between them. Who would have thought white walkers knew how to place chess, but apparently he does. From what she could make out of his broken common tongue was that Aodhfin had once taught him. That only led to other questions, like how did a wildling learn to play chess? It couldn’t have been from a book no matter how massive that library was. It was that and his peculiar dislike for Ergor and his kind though he tolerates them well enough. Aodhfin was a walking contradiction, he was all wildling and all…something else. Eindride smirks as he moves a piece across the board, the marble cracking beneath his fingers as he does so. He looks perplexed and irritated all at once and Sansa giggles behind her hand despite his sharp look in her direction when she does so. “I’m _sorry_!” she giggles loudly, unable to hold it in.

He snorts derisively and leans back in his seat, glowering at her from across the table. She leans forward, tapping her chin thoughtfully before she moves a piece of her own. “Check.”

He glowers at the chessboard, obviously displeased with losing. He moves another piece, smirking at her triumphantly as he utters, “ _Check_.”

“No,” Sansa frowns as she looks at the board and then groans when she realizes her mistake, “Oh bother.” Then she moves another piece, her eyes on the board intently. It’s then that she notices the ice creeping across the table and the intense hum in the atmosphere. When she looks up, Eindride’s eyes are white and he’s watching the doorway behind her. When she turns back to look she sighs with a shake of her head. “Aodhfin…you shouldn’t be here.”

“Ergor’s sent for us both,” he says flatly as he looks at Eindride.

“Please,” Sansa says softly, staring at the table as she watches the ice climb like a vine up over the chessboard and crack the marble pieces one by one, “don’t fight.”

“Nobody’s fighting Sansa,” Aodhfin says but his gaze is still on Eindride’s face, “he’s the one acting like a little shit.”

“Eindride,” Sansa says softly, raising her gaze to his, “He’s not offended me…nothing’s wrong.”

“He thinks I’m spying on you,” Aodhfin says, “say’s I was following him last night and I was spying on the two of you when you were having your little _moment_. Think’s it was inappropriate and he ran to Daddy about it.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been spying on us,” Sansa turns back to look at him, “why were you hiding anyways?”

“I wasn’t _hiding_ ,” he growls, “I fell asleep…it’s not the first time I nodded off after a few drinks, _Mance’s balls_ woman…I’m not some _voyeurist_.” He sneers, looking perfectly offended by the suggestion.

Eindride stands and Sansa jumps when the jarring of the table when he moves cracks the very wood beneath her hands in two. She hadn’t realized it was freezing over along with the chessboard. Everything is dumped into her lap without ceremony and she sighs as she gazes upon the mess. Eindride looks sheepish, ducking his head in shame. “Its fine,” Sansa sighs wearily, “just go.”

He nods and heads for the door, glowering at Aodhfin as he goes.

“Mind him when he’s like that,” Aodhfin says quietly before follows Eindride down the hall, “sometimes they lose control of it when their upset.” When Sansa doesn’t reply he scowls at her back and turns down the hall, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _fucking green boy_ under his breath as he goes.

 

* * *

 

               It was wrong what she was doing, but she really didn’t care. She didn’t want Eindride to kill Aodhfin, it simply wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything wrong really, maybe he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it wasn’t so grave as to sentence him to death. She’s half way to the council hall when she hears them, and it’s the first time she’s ever heard Ergor speak in the common tongue. His voice is like cracking ice, like the rush of icy water over stone, “I had one rule, and it was that you abided by our laws.”

“For fucks sake Ergor,” Aodhfin scowls, “I wasn’t doing anything, that fucking green boy son of yours is _paranoid_!” He lets out a cry and Sansa sees a flash of silver in the air, only too late realizing that it was Eindride’s sword singing through the air, stopping inches from Aodhfin’s throat only at the behest of his Father who ordered him to stop the moment he realized what his son was about to do. “ _Fuck me_!” Aodhfin growls, “watch where you’re swinging that thing!”

“Don’t antagonize him,” Ergor says darkly, irritation dancing in his eyes.

“We had a _deal_ Ergor,” Aodhfin sneers up at him, “you can’t throw me out. I told you how to get beyond the wall, I gave you the key. It was sheer dumb luck _your_ boy found her wandering in the snow… I didn’t set that up; I didn’t even know who she was at first! Nevertheless it plays out just right for you doesn’t it? Why should I be punished because your boy’s feeling a wee bit _sensitive_?”

“You will _apologize_ ,” Ergor tells him and then looks at his son, “and you will heed me when I tell you that you cannot kill him.” He switches into the winter language to reinforce the point, Eindride hissing with irritation, an odd sound like the wind hissing through the cracks of the stone during a storm. Sansa’s never heard him make that sound before and it startles her.

“The fuck I will,” Aodhfin scowls at Ergor.

“You have been at this too long,” Ergor tells him pointedly, “you’ve forgotten everything haven’t you? So far into the game that you forget how I saved you from your desolation.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he stammers though suddenly he looks unsure, his gaze turning away and into the distance, “I’m sorry Eindride….I was out of line.”

Eindride snorts derisively and glowers up at his Father before stalking off. Sansa watches him with wide eyes, panic ripping through her veins as she scrambles to hide. She’ll be too loud to hide in the hall, so she dashes back through the halls, hoping he doesn’t hear her.

He does.

He’s on her in moments, frowning when he catches her by the elbow and pulls her back towards him, anger etched across his face, “You….no hear.”

“I did,” Sansa answers quietly, “but…I don’t understand.”

“Angry?” he asks, his fingers sliding along her cheek lightly.

“Confused,” Sansa replies, looking up at him, “what do I have to do with any of this?”

“Stark,” he replies evenly, “You…Stark.”

“No I’m not,” Sansa frowns and he smiles at her words, amused, “I’m not a Stark anymore.”

“Stark blood,” he says as he touches her wrist, tracing the veins of her wrist gently with one sharp looking fingernail, “blood of first men.”

“What does my blood have to do with this?” Sansa blinks, suddenly very worried. She remembers the way Aodhfin had gone on about Ergor craving power, remembers Ergor’s love of magic. What did her blood have to do with any of this?

“Magic,” he says with a sigh before he lifts her wrist to his lips and presses a kiss to it lightly. His lips are cold and smooth, ghosting across her skin. “Magic.”

 

* * *

 

               It haunts her dreams, the way Eindride whispered the word _magic_ across the bare skin of her wrist as his lips ghost across it.  She dreams of the Wall and Bran the Builder, she dreams of fire and chaos and blood. She dreams of the undead armies lurking beyond the Ice gate, of the white walkers and their icy swords. She wakes in the middle of the night, sweat beading on her forehead. Her heart is racing as she scrambles out of bed, aching to get away from the heat. She was so warm; it was so _hot_ in this room. She steps out into the solar and sits on the window ledge, the icy wind in her face and brushing sensually against the thin of her cotton nightdress. The cold air feels so good, so refreshing. She sits out there long enough to let the heat go from her body and the sweat disappears from her brow. Then she goes back inside, and looks at the flames dancing in the hearth before putting those out too.  She climbs into bed, fumbling her way through the darkness as she pulls the blanket up over her shoulders and goes back to sleep.

               In the morning she is awakened to the sound of Mariska’s cursing and she rolls over, blinking sleepily at her.

“Fucking hell woman!” Mariska says as she scrambles to shut the door to the solar, “you left that door open all night…weren’t you _cold_?”

“No…” Sansa frowns, “I guess I had heavy blankets.”

“Fire’s out,” Mariska sighs, “let me get another started for you. I’ve brought you breakfast too.” She says, nodding towards the tray of food.

Sansa picks at her food lightly, watching Mariska work quietly, “I’m sorry,” Sansa says, “I think I must have had a fever last night…I was horribly warm last night, I had bad dreams too.”

“One hell of a storm last night for sure,” Mariska nods, “wouldn’t be surprised if everybody had bad dreams last night.”

With a sigh she sets the tray of food aside and stands, starting to braid her hair as she walks across the room in search of a gown to wear. While Mariska works, she gets dressed and goes out into her solar to watch the sparring practice below. Oddly enough Eindride isn’t with them, and she wonders about that. That mystery is solved when he appears in her doorway, sending Mariska away with a few quiet words.

“Eindride,” she says softly, watching him walk into her solar.

“Sansa,” he says as he holds out his hand, “come.”

 

* * *

 

               He takes her outside, beyond the Ice gate.  She doesn’t like riding on their horses for obvious reasons, but she stomachs it anyways. Settling in on the saddle in front of him he holds the reins lightly and steers the horse up the hill and over the snowbank away from the winter keep. It’s a cold morning, but the wind feels good on her face, it reminds her of home during the summer snows. They carry on for an hour or more, Eindride steering the horse carefully over the snow banks and through dense forests where she occasionally notices one weirwood after another, slowly appearing closer together and greater in number.

“Where are you taking me Eindride?” Sansa asks softly after a time, suddenly nervous.

“Children,” he says softly, “Trees.” He tells her, pointing towards the weirwoods as they pass.

“The children of the forest aren’t--…” Sansa trails off, realizing that she was sitting with a white walker on a horse beyond the wall. If white walkers were real, who was she to say that the children weren’t real too?

“Children,” he says as he points towards an enormous tree in the distance, the biggest weirwood she’s ever seen.

 He stops at the edge of the forest and she frowns as she looks back at him, “Aren’t we going there?”

He shakes his head as he looks up at the tree, “forbidden…children and winter…not friends.”

“Why am I here then?” Sansa asks him with a sigh.

“Blood,” he tells her, “children’s blood.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees, “I’m a Stark…we’re descended from them.”  


_There must always be a Stark in Winterfell…_

The saying pops in her head without warning, the echo of her Father’s voice ringing in her ears. How many times did he always tell her that? Tell her brothers and her sister the same thing? Again and again, a saying passed down through the family over and over again. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell…or the North,” Sansa says aloud thoughtfully, “That’s why I’m here…your showing me that the magic is real. So long as I’m alive and in the North, your Father can’t cross beyond the wall.”

“Yes,” he nods solemnly, “Blood….” He says as he touches her wrist, “Magic in the blood….blood is the key.”

The wind picks up and the sky begins to clear and Eindride yanks the reins back, pulling them further into the cloud of winter and away from the sunlight. It’s then that she realizes who stands at the base of the large tree in the distance.

“Bran!” Sansa cries out, sudden relief and joy, “ _Bran_!”

Eindride’s arm snakes around her waist to hold her steady on the horse, Sansa tipping slightly in her excitement when she sees her little brother. It’s short lived however, when he steers the horse away from the tree with a solemn shake of his head, “Not friends.”

“He’s my _brother_!” Sansa says quickly, “He’s the whole reason I was out here Eindride!”

“Not friends,” he says firmly and shakes his head, guiding them further away from the tree. “Fire…” he says as he points towards the sky, “dangerous.”

“Oh,” Sansa says in understanding, “The sunlight…you’d melt wouldn’t you? Then let me off…I’ll go up there alone.”

“ _No_ ,” he says flatly and pushes on further into the forest, deeper into the shadows and into the arms of the cold winter.

Yet Sansa is determined, scrambling to get off the horse despite his warning. She tumbles to the ground in a heap and he hisses in irritation, the noise sending a shock of fear down her spine. “ _Bran_!” Sansa yells and darts towards the giant tree in the distance.

“No Sansa!” Eindride shouts, he moves so quickly and so quietly she never sees him move. Suddenly she’s crashing into him and his arms circle her waist, shaking his head as he looks down at her, “ _Dangerous_.”

“Why is it _dangerous_?” Sansa fumes aloud, “that’s my brother; he’s not going to hurt me!”

“Sansa?” Bran’s voice now, calling across the wide expanse of ice between them and the giant tree.

“Bran!” Sansa calls excitedly, “Bran!”

“ _Sansa_!” Bran shouts and the sky is suddenly bright, the sun flooding across the land right up to the very edge of the forest. Eindride shouts in alarm and suddenly he’s yanking her back and away, the winter wind rising up and howling around them to shield them from the sunlight. It took Sansa a moment to realize that Bran was doing that, _Bran_ was clearing the skies above their heads.

How was he doing that?

Alarm bells go off when she sees Eindride’s face, his marble skin was _sweating_ , and he was withstanding it only to keep her to him. “Let’s go,” Sansa says in a flurry of panic as she lets him pull her further into the winter cloud, frightened by the sudden watery luster shining on his face.  She would have to come back here some other time, but it was good to know Bran was alive. It filled a small piece of the void that lived in her heart where her family used to be.

 

* * *

 

               They reach the winter keep well into the night, Sansa is exhausted and nodding off against Eindride’s chest as they ride slowly through the Ice gate and into the caverns below. He wakes her gently, the hum of magic was lulling in this place and she was comfortable against him. She blinks sleepily and lets him help her slide down off the horse before leading her back towards her private chambers.  It had been a nice trip, a good chance to get away from the winter keep for a while and the memory of what she heard Ergor talking about. They planned to use her for some wicked purpose surely, some means to which Ergor could lead his army beyond the wall and into Westeros.

He sits with her in her solar despite the icy wind billowing through the open windows. Sansa finds she could withstand it better now, and thinks perhaps she’s acclimatizing to the cold weather here. He seems unbothered the cold, which didn’t surprise her. It was easy to sit in a room with him in complete silence and be content to do so, only the soft hum of magic thrumming through the walls and in the atmosphere around them making a sound. When she found she could hardly keep her eyes open anymore she stood and went back inside, fearful that she would fall into hypothermia and not realize it.

That sort of cold made you feel warm and comfortable before it killed you.

He follows her in, his eyes on the burning blue flames in the hearth. The fire was cold to him; he did not fear its heat. He watches her sit on her bed, staring at her hands thoughtfully before she looks up at him, “Please,” she says softly, “Can I go and see Bran again soon?”

He sighs, frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t explain himself properly enough to make her understand why it wasn’t an option. Instead he says, “ _Dangerous_.”

“Bran’s not dangerous,” Sansa says softly, “he’d never hurt me….” She trails off in understanding and then adds, “but he’d hurt _you_ wouldn’t he?” He nods and looks away, his fingers sliding over his cheek where the ice hadn’t quite reformed just yet. It worried her to see his skin almost scarred by the heat from earlier. “Will it heal?”

“Yes,” he says quietly and watches her wearily when she stands and steps closer, brushing her fingers along his cheek as she examines the wound.

“This is my fault,” she sighs sadly, “I’m sorry.” Gently she leans up on her toes and presses a kiss against his cold skin, the sensation oddly tingles against her lips.

“Careful,” he warns softly, his left hand cupping her cheek when she pulls back to look at him, “burns.”

“My lips?” Sansa blinks at him, “My lips burn you?”

“Heat,” he replies, smiling faintly down at her, “warmth.”

“This is going to be a real issue isn’t it?” she smiles a little and steps away, “I can’t touch you and you can’t touch me without us hurting each other.”

He grins a little, his gaze on her face before he reaches out, sliding his index finger along her nose and then tracing her lips before he turns into her, his other hand coming up to cup her right cheek. He leans close, ghosting kisses along the tip of her nose and her cheeks and finally her forehead. “Magic,” he murmurs softly.

“Possibly,” Sansa says, humming along with the song of magic that vibrates in the very air around them. “It’s like _music_.”

He sighs as he watches her, stepping away neatly before turning towards the door with a little smile curving his lips as he nods towards her bed, “ _Musszzzna_.”

“Yes,” Sansa agrees, “I _am_ awfully tired.”

When he leaves, she goes to bed and that night she dreams of nothing but the winter snow and the icy wind that howls across the snowy plains.

 

* * *

 

               The first time she sees Aodhfin since that day in Ergor’s council hall, it’s been well over a week. He keeps to himself mostly now, pouring over books in the library. She rubs her wrist nervously as she enters, it’s been aching something fierce as of late. “So I see you haven’t been thrown out yet.”

“Nope,” he sniffs lightly, “Eindride’s not taken off my head yet either…” he trails off, frowning when he notices the way she rubs her wrist, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Sansa smiles, dropping her hands to her sides, “my wrist is just aching a little. I must have hurt it somehow.”

“Let’s have a look then,” he says, motioning for her to come closer. He examines it carefully, frowning as he slides his fingers along the veins in her wrist, “They’re turning blue.”

“What?” Sansa frowns as she looks, “That’s odd.”

“That’s bad,” Aodhfin frowns, “you haven’t let him kiss you, have you?”

“What?” Sansa flusters loudly, “No….he hasn’t…I mean…well you were _there_ weren’t you?”

“Don’t let him kiss you,” Aodhfin warns pointedly, “don’t let his magic anywhere near you.”

“You make it sound like he’s some kind of _disease_ ,” Sansa scowls at him irritably.

“He’s dangerous to you,” Aodhfin points out, “I don’t dislike the boy…I just don’t think he’s using his head is all. He knows damn well what could happen, he’s his Father’s son after all.”

“What could happen?” Sansa frowns as she looks at him.

“What do _you_ think?” he snorts as he looks up at her.

She’s fairly certain she knows the answer but says nothing for a long while. She doesn’t want to contemplate the answer to that, she doesn’t want to think about what Eindride and his Father might have planned. Instead she asks, “How did Ergor make Tesha a white walker?”

“Love,” Aodhfin answers softly, his voice serene and full of distant emotion, “Love did that. Love is pure magic you see, because it’s so rare and so powerful. It can drive people to do mad things really…things you’d never expect them capable of. Real love like that is pure magic. Course it helps when you’ve got the blood of the first men in you…they’ve already got magic in their blood…it just…changed when Ergor touched her.”

“As in touched I’m assuming you mean…” Sansa trails off.

“Fucked? Yeah…” Aodhfin chuckles loudly as he shuts the book before him.

“I know what you told Ergor,” Sansa says after a long while, “I heard you…what did you tell them about the wall?”

Aodhfin stiffens and looks back at her wearily, “I told them how to breach it.”

“Why?” Sansa asks with narrowed eyes.

“Because I was desperate,” he tells her, “You’re the last Stark…only Stark blood can break the spell on the wall that keeps winter’s children trapped on this side of it.”

“You told them what my blood could do,” Sansa glowers at him irritably.

“No,” he says, “I didn’t know you were a Stark when you came here. You don’t even look like a Stark,” he scoffs, “I thought you were some sissy highborn twit that got lost out in the snow.”

“Well now you know I’m not,” Sansa tells with a frown, “Now what? We just let them go marching into Westeros?”

“What do you care?” he tells her, “you’ve got your new lover don’t you? You’ve nothing but enemies on that side of the wall.”

“Not everyone on that side of the wall is my enemy,” Sansa glowers at him.

“Well,” he chuckles, “that’s a leap from the girl who cared for nothing except her stolen home.”

“Did Eindride know this whole time?” Sansa frowns softly, turning her gaze away from him.

“Yes,” he replies evenly, “but you should know he doesn’t want you harmed. All he needs is for you to touch the wall. The need for blood is a metaphor really…according to the magic that is. The blood of the first men, which is you, but you have the children’s blood which is what is needed too. The last Stark of Winterfell,” he chuckles darkly, “couldn’t have worked out better for him if you ask me. His son takes you to wife and _bang_ ,” he says with a wicked grin, “he’s won. He’ll have a Stark on his side to release the magic, a _willing_ Stark.”

“To wife?” Sansa looks slightly bewildered, “I don’t think…he’s not…”

“Oh _bollocks_ woman,” Aodhfin snorts, “do you think he’d try and take my head off if he _didn’t_ see you that way?”

“He _doesn’t_ ,” Sansa says earnestly, unsure of herself as she stares down at her clasped hands.

“He _does_ ,” Aodhfin says as he watches her, “I told you…love is a powerful magic all in itself. How else would there be ice in your veins if he didn’t? Haven’t you noticed that you’re not even wearing your cloak right now? Or that you sleep without a fire…that you dream of the ice and the snow?”

“How did you know that?” Sansa frowns, suddenly weary of him.

“Mariska tells me everything,” he says quietly, “and some things I don’t need to know but that’s beside the point.”

“You _are_ spying on me,” Sansa murmurs, stepping away from him.

“You’re the last Stark,” he scoffs, “I can’t afford not to.”

“Why?” Sansa demands, frowning at him.

“My secrets are my own,” he tells her as he stands, “I don’t owe you a damn thing, therefore I don’t have to tell you _shit_.” Then he stalks off and she watches him go, frowning at his back.  Eindride had been right about him.

She wondered if Ergor knew that though.

 


	8. Treasures In The Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

There was color dancing beneath her skin, Sansa watches fascinated, entranced by the sight. She keeps her arm hidden from sight most times, but when she’s alone she likes to stare at it. Part of her was terrified because she knew what it meant, but it hadn’t progressed beyond her wrist, so maybe it wouldn’t go any farther than that? She’s noticed a few odd things too, like how she can stand barefoot in her bed chambers and not get cold, or how she can withstand the icy wind outside whereas she once couldn’t tolerate it. 

               When Eindride touches her, it doesn’t burn like it used too. He can ghost his fingers over her skin longer without harm, but inevitably there comes a time when he has to stop. Maybe she was just developing a tolerance for his kind, not becoming one of them. Aside from the issue of whether or not she was becoming some mystical ice creature, there was Aodhfin to consider. He was being increasingly evasive with her; he talks in riddles and dodges her questions. Every time she thinks she’s getting closer to the truth he either shuts her down completely or leaves.

“What you lookin’ at?” Mariska asks her one afternoon, catching Sansa right in the act of staring at her wrist.

Quickly she jerks her sleeve down and shakes her head, shrugging lightly, “My wrist was bothering me earlier.”

“Let me have a look,” Mariska says, reaching for her but Sansa jerks away, shaking her head.

“Its fine,” Sansa waves her off, “My wrist is fine.”

“But you just said…” Mariska trails off, perplexed.

“It’s nothing,” Sansa says as she stands and steps around her, tucking her wrist close to her body as she walks.

“If you’ve gotten hurt and somebody hurt you Sansa, you need to tell me,” Mariska says pointedly, “Eindride needs to hear about it.”

“Nobody’s hurt me Mariska,” Sansa scowls at her irritably and turns away, ashamed that she snapped at her friend. “I’m fine.”

Mariska watches her wearily for a while and then Sansa gets up, tired of being scrutinized. She slips out the chamber door and down the hall, walking the familiar path towards the library. There weren’t many places to go in this cavern that she was allowed to go to without fear of reprimand. Eindride has let up on his rules a little at least, allowing her this pleasure.  She had a purpose this time however, and it was the same battle as ever. Aodhfin was hiding something, and she was going to find out what that was. 

               If it was one thing she learned in Kings Landing, it was that people kept secrets for a reason. Some secrets were for the fear of taboo, some were plots so thick and dense that it could mean treason; some were just because they’d prefer to keep it discreet. Aodhfin’s behavior told Sansa that his secret was dangerous, and if it involved _her_ she wanted to know what it was.

“Oh not _you_ again,” Aodhfin scowls without even looking up at her as she enters the library.

“I’m not here to pester you,” Sansa tells him; “I’ve only come to say one thing to you. I’ve lived in Kings Landing; I know how the court works. I’ve seen people lie for all sorts of reason…good reasons, bad reasons, boring reasons. The point is…I know when someone’s lying to me. I know you’re lying to me…and I don’t know why, but I think it has something to do with what you told Ergor.”

“I gave up the secrets of the first men to the Night’s King,” Aodhfin scowls angrily at her, “is that what you want to hear? Well there it is then…that’s what I did. That’s my great transgression.”

“I’m an unintentional Kingslayer,” Sansa tells him quietly, staring at her folded hands that rest on the table before her, “I know I tend to blame everyone else…but secretly deep down I think I played a big part in the death of my Father. I got him killed…and I blame myself for that every day. I was this…naïve young woman in the court who had no idea about the game. I just wanted to fall in love and be loved…I wanted to marry a prince and have little princes and princesses; I wanted to be happy and grow old with the man I love. I believed the songs and poems were true, and that was my mistake. I learned my lesson; I know the world isn’t like the songs now. So you see…we all have these hard truths within us, these mistakes we made when we were desperate and alone.”

“Everybody wants that when they’re younger,” Aodhfin smiles faintly, “you weren’t stupid for wanting it.”

“My sister never wanted it,” Sansa says, “she was just like my Aunt Lyanna….wild and free and she never longed for the things I did. She used to hate it when my Mother made her wear dresses and behave like a lady.” Sansa smiles fondly at the memory of Arya, “I miss her so much sometimes it hurts, and I never thought I’d miss her like this. We always fought…mostly because I wanted to marry a Prince and she just wanted to slaughter one in battle.” Sansa laughs at this, the memory of it was silly and ridiculous but it made her laugh nonetheless.

“Sounds like your sister has a good head on her shoulders,” Aodhfin chuckles aloud, “took you a bit to find yours though.”

“Still with the belittling,” Sansa sighs as she looks at him, “I’m stronger then I look…just because I wear a skirt doesn’t mean I’m any weaker then you….people often mistake it for weakness…it’s a dangerous mistake.”

“Oh it wasn’t meant as an insult,” he tells her seriously, “you didn’t believe in yourself at all when you first came here. Took you a bit to grow some backbone.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what your hiding?” Sansa asks curiously.

“I told you what I’m hiding,” he frowns at her, “what more do you want?”

“And all that rubbish about Edwin the Bear and growing up here?” Sansa quirks a brow.

“Some of it was fabricated,” he shrugs, “I needed a cover story.”

“For what?” Sansa asks, watching him thoughtfully, “I had one too….I pretended to be the bastard daughter of Peter Baelish, I went by the name Alayne Stone for ages. I know what it means to hide…but you went rather far don’t you think?”

He laughs a little, “I like to tell stories is all,” he shrugs, “you gobbled it right up, didn’t you?”

“What was the story for?” Sansa repeats, raising her chin as she gazes upon him. He won’t deter her from the truth this time.

He exhales loudly and stares at her before saying, “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you? I told you what I did…I told you why I did it. Yes…I wasn’t here since I was a boy, that’s rubbish. I came here when I was a man…I did some really bad sorts of things along the coast…I’m useful to Ergor…or at least I made myself useful.”

“Lies,” Sansa smiles faintly at him and stands, straightening her skirts. “I can spot a liar a mile off.”

“I have nothing more to tell you,” he says with a sigh as he watches her, “Please…stop pushing me.”

“Fine,” Sansa replies quietly and turns to leave, “Keep away from me.”

 

* * *

 

               Her’s was a winter soul. She could feel the ice creeping into her heart as she gazed upon the sun setting in the distance and the color streaking across the sky. Her hands were cold as she touched her face, wiping the tears away from her cheeks. She was tired of the liars in the world, tired of the deception of the people around her. Even in this bitter cold place they hungered for power above all else. Eindride was good to her though, she couldn’t complain. Ergor was the one she feared, he was the one she had nightmares about. She kept dreaming of touching the wall and watching it crack beneath her fingers, shattering like glass, a hurricane of sound as it crashes to the ground before her, icy wind in her face and the avalanche of ice and snow quaking across the land.

It didn’t bother her.

It bothered her that it didn’t bother her.

She frowned, staring down at her pale cold hands and worried quietly about what it meant. Behind her she hears Eindride, or rather doesn’t hear him as he steps into her solar and sits across from her on the ledge. He reaches out, smooth pale hands sliding across her cheek as he wipes away her tears. He sings quietly to her and Sansa hums along, closing her eyes as she leans back against the icy pillar behind her. It was a balm to her soul, the hum of his magic and the sound of his voice when he sings the song of winter to her.

He could always tell when she was upset.

She could feel the hum of the magic in her chest when he draws closer, her body vibrating with anticipation. His lips are cool and smooth when he presses soft kisses along her face, her jawline, the tip of her nose. There’s was a secret language, it was an understanding between two people who could scarcely speak the other’s language and yet understood without words that they were meant for each other. Sansa was still hesitant of course; she would never be so quick to believe as she did when she was younger ever again.  Ergor had plans for her she could scarcely begin to understand and as for Eindride, she wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from her but she had a pretty good idea. He was beautiful, so beautiful it made her hurt to look at him sometimes.

Sometimes beautiful things were dangerous.

She watches the way the wind catches in his hair, pushing it back behind his shoulder as he cups her face in his hands, bending closer than he’s ever been to her. Oh just this once…let me _believe_ , Sansa thinks to herself as she tips her head up and lets him press his smooth cold lips to hers, her eyes fluttering closed with the joy bursting in her heart. She didn’t care when the burning began, she didn’t mind the way his cold hands rested on her waist and sent shivers down her spine. He wasn’t warm against her; it was like being held by a block of ice. Yet it gave her peace and made her weep to let him hold her, because she was finally living the dream she’d kept alive in her heart, in some tiny corner of her soul where she still longed to believe in love.

               Gently she rests her head on his shoulder and lets him cradle her to him, her hand on his chest and the smooth black leather of his jerkin cold beneath her fingertips. She felt no heartbeat beneath her hand, only the thrum of magic that danced to a song older then the land itself. She closes her eyes, the two of them caught in the ice and the wind of the cold outside, the snow dancing around them in flurries, catching in her hair. She wondered if she’ll always feel this happy, or if it was just a temporary moment. Would he turn on her one day, reveal some evil plot that he’d hidden from her since the beginning?

She hoped not.

 

* * *

 

Much later he takes her by the hand and leads her down through the caverns, deeper then she’s ever ventured before. She wondered at where he was taking her, well past the living quarters, past the council hall and deeper still then the caverns where the women were kept. She’d never seen that either, and as she glanced in passing she saw them not unhappy as she expected, but content. They weren’t ill-treated or abused, but laughing with one another as they made jokes and giggled over things that happened during the day. It soothed her heart to know they weren’t poorly treated; it had been something dwelling in the back of her mind for some time.

“Where are we going?” Sansa asks softly, finding that this was a question she’d often have to ask him these days. Her eyes shift towards her hand and wonders why the cold wasn’t burning her, he’s been holding it for well over ten minutes with little change. Aodhfin had warned her once not to let him kiss her, to touch her with his magic. She’d done both things, but she didn’t particularly feel any different afterwards. She wondered if Aodhfin was paranoid, but the fact that she was still holding Eindride’s hand made her nervous.

               Her nervousness fades when they step into a cavern bigger than any she’d ever seen. Down here it was icy cold, cold enough to bother her now. Naturally Eindride wasn’t affected by it one bit,  who notices how she shivers and releases her hand quickly, obviously concerned that he’d made her colder by touching her. She tugs her cloak around her body and takes in the sight before her, for as far as the eye could see she saw nothing but antiquities and treasures of every sort.

“We’re in the treasury?” Sansa gaps at him, wondering why he’d take her to such a place. He smiles shyly and turns away, digging through a pile of gold and gems as large as her fist. However they acquired such things, if one were to conquer these people and take these treasures they’d be the richest people in the world. He pulls free a faded blue cloak and on the back of it, a direwolf.

“That’s my family crest,” Sansa smiles brightly as she takes it from him, looking it over, “Where did you get this?”

He shrugs as if he didn’t recall and continues to wander, Sansa marveling at the different antiquities as she passes. One thing in particular she noticed was there rather large collection of Valyrian steel swords. “Who do you have so many?” Sansa asks, pointing towards them.

“Dangerous,” he replies evenly, watching them wearily.

“Oh,” Sansa nods in understanding. They must be collecting them to keep them out of harm’s way. If the steel was dangerous to his kind they clearly wouldn’t want anyone else having them. She steps closer to the collection for a deeper inspection, her fingers sliding along the pommels until she crosses one in particular and gasps, “That’s _Brightroar_!”

It was the lost Valyrian steel sword of the Lannisters, and the last she knew of it (though her knowledge of weaponry was little) was that it was lost in the smoking sea.  Upon further inspection she notices another, another that couldn’t possibly be here. There was no logical explanation as to how it got here, she only knew that it had disappeared long ago before she was born. Her fingers reach out and slide along the smooth black leather pommel, the gold metal of the hilt. Somehow how they’d gotten ahold of it, somehow it made its way all the way out here beyond the wall.

It was Blackfyre.

* * *

 

 Theon Greyjoy knew he was dying. 

The frozen cold had finally won him over and he laid slump against the snowbank, unable to walk another mile. He escaped and survive the bitter cold, hopelessly lost and alone in the wilds beyond the wall. He had no idea which way the wall was save for the fact that he knew if he kept walking south and _only_ south, he'd find it eventually.  He'd walked for miles and miles, through the blistering icy winds and the horribly cold nights. His mind was set upon finding help, that he couldn't just leave Sansa to die with those things. He wanted to weep for his failure, he'd fought so hard. He ran the moment he had the chance, ran and ran and ran until his legs burned and his lungs ached just to get away from those creatures. They let him go, that was clear enough. They obviously had no desire to chase him down. 

Then quite suddenly, his face was wet.

He grimaces, shaking his head, trying to move away from whatever was dripping along his face. It smelled disgusting whatever it was, and when he opens his eyes he lets out a cry of fright, scrambling backwards in the snow as Ghost watched him, his red eyes bright in the morning light.

"Ghost!" Theon shouts with joy, laughing at his luck, "Ghost it's you!"

He was saved for sure. Ghost would take him back to the wall, Ghost would take him to someone who could help him save Sansa. Surely if he told the Night's Watch that the Last Stark was in danger they'd send a range out for her. He wasn't sure they'd believe him about the white walkers, but he could try. He scrambles to his feet, shaking the cold from his bones. His heart racing, it wakes the rest of his body from the hypothermic slumber it was slipping into before. "Ghost," Theon smiles and laughs as he scratches him behind the ears, "am I ever glad to see _you_."

He walks along with Ghost up the ridge and down over the hills, following the direwolf quietly. He hoped this wolf knew where he was going, because Theon certainly didn't. Finally he stops on a ridge overlooking a vast snowy plain and howls, loud and clear. Theon watches him curiously, wondering what he's up too. Then he sees them just on the ridge, a line of black cloaked riders on horseback. 

It was The Watch. 

 


	9. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When Jon Snow sees Theon Greyjoy riding in with the range he’d sent out, he isn’t sure what to make of it at first. He walks down into the courtyard, watching Theon ride in with the rest of them. When he meet’s Jon’s gaze he just stares, shock and surprise etched across his face. It was clear that Theon wasn’t expecting to see Jon.

“Jon,” Theon breaths aloud, surprise in his eyes.

“Theon,” he replies as he watches his old friend walk towards him, “Theon I thought I’d not see you again.”

Theon stares at his feet, unable to look his old friend in the eye. It was clear that Jon didn’t know everything, that Jon didn’t understand what Theon had done. Jon embarrasses him warmly and Theon stiffens in his grasp, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. He almost forgets what he came here for, but pulls himself out of his guilt and grief, “Jon, Sansa’s in trouble.”

“Tell me about it inside Theon,” Jon says as he guides him up the stairs and towards the tower of the Lord Commander.

 

* * *

 

               Inside, Theon huddles close to the hearth on the floor, staring at the flames while Jon pours them both some wine, “I thought you were dead,” Theon admits aloud, “I heard it in Moles town that you were.” He holds his hands out, marveling at the warmth against his fingers as Jon hands him a cup of wine, “I thought I’d never be warm again.”

“Sit any closer and you’d be _in_ the hearth Theon,” Jon smiles a little, “Mind it.”

“Jon,” Theon says as he sips at his wine and then greedily at the plate of roast Jon sets beside him. “Jon they’ve got Sansa!”

“So I heard,” Jon tells him thoughtfully as he watches Theon, “Edd said when they found you; you were half-starved and frozen. Hypothermia does strange things to people’s minds. I’m not saying I don’t believe you…but I am still trying to wrap my mind around Sansa _willing_ going beyond the wall.”

Theon greedily gobbles up his food, downing his wine in one go before he wipes his mouth and looks at Jon, “There’s things you need to know Jon,” Theon says hesitantly now, looking solemn, “things I ought to tell you.” Then he does, the whole truth of it. He tells Jon everything that happened with Rob, with Bran and Rickon, then with Ramsay and everything that happened after that with Sansa. By the time he’s done, he thinks Jon is going to hit him.

               Instead Jon sighs, dropping down into a chair as he gazes upon Theon with pity in his eyes. “Why did you do Theon?”

Theon ducks his head, shame in his eyes and tears on his cheeks as he replies, “I just wanted to impress my Father….I wanted to prove myself.”

“Not that,” Jon shakes his head, “What Ramsay did to you is punishment enough I think. I could never deal a punishment worse than that to you for the crimes you committed against the Starks. What I want to know is why the bloody hell you’d let Sansa go beyond the wall. It was clear she’d taken leave of her senses and you let her go anyways. Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous it is out there? _Especially_ without horses or weapons.”

“I wasn’t going to let her go far,” Theon says quietly, staring at his feet, “I’m sorry Jon…I meant to bring her back…she was just so sad…she wanted to find Bran and I felt so _guilty_.”

“Nevertheless,” Jon sighs heavily, “The white walkers have her now. Theon I need to know everything you remember about them. Everything you saw, where they camp…where they live…how many in their army… _everything_.”

“I don’t remember much,” Theon says softly, “I think I could show you where their outpost was…it’s about twenty miles or so northwest from here I think. It’s well hidden beneath the snow.”

Jon sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. Sansa was out there alone with white walkers. Theon couldn’t remember where they camped, and Jon wasn’t surprised by that. Theon had probably wandered for days in the snow without food or shelter, he’s lucky to be alive. He hasn’t seen his half-sister in years, not since she was a girl in braids who was always trying to help him along with the others, always correcting his manners and trying to teach him to behave like a lordling. If Sansa was the only living Stark left (that is, if Bran and Rickon did not survive wherever it is they went) he needed to get her back. Winterfell would be another problem he could tackle at another time. Right now, Sansa’s life was on the line. It was likely they’d killed her as they’d done everyone else they ran across, but he didn’t want to believe that.

               Instead he summons Edd in and explains the situation. Between what Theon knew and what Jon could sort out by map, they had a rough estimate of where to go to find the outpost. They didn’t have very men left to guard the wall; they would have to take only ten at most. Ten strong men who were skilled with a sword, it was Jon’s best chance. They wouldn’t be able to fight these creatures head on; they’d have to use stealth to get past them.

“Jon you remember what those things are capable of,” Edd says nervously as they ponder the situation, “Those things have hordes of undead….we’d never survive it.”

“Not outright,” Jon agrees aloud, “we’d need to be quiet about it.”

“There’s no telling if she’s even still alive Jon,” Edd says quietly, “they’d killed everything they came across.”

“I remember,” Jon sighs as he looks at Edd, “But we’re going to try anyways. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left Sansa to her fate believing her dead when she really wasn’t.”

“What about him?” Edd says, motioning towards Theon.

Jon looks back at the third man huddled on the floor by the fire and sighs, “He’s taking the black.”

 

* * *

 

“Blackfyre,” Sansa says softly, staring at the blade in awe. She struggles for a moment before she manages to lift it out the pile before her, Eindride stepping back and away when she does. He looks at her curiously as she turns to look at him; the weight of the sword was a struggle for her. “This is Blackfyre…where did you get this?”

He clearly didn’t understand or he thought she wanted the sword as a gift, because the look on his face was comical. It was a combination of perplexity and amusement, an eyebrow quirked thoughtfully as he watches how the sword drags on the floor and the way Sansa struggles to hold it up for him to see. Sansa frowns and tries again, “whose sword is this?”

“Dangerous,” he says, motioning towards the pile.

“ _No_ ,” Sansa sighs and shakes her head, “Where did you get this?”

“We took it from the one who wielded it,” Ergor’s voice echoes in the chamber and Sansa almost drops the sword in surprise. She turns and looks at him, watching Eindride’s Father walk into the chamber, glowering angrily at his son. “She should not be here.”

“Who wielded it?” Sansa demands, “What did he look like?”

“Rhaegar Targaryen,” Ergor tells her, “I slew him and took his sword as a prize.”

“Rhaegar Targaryen died on the trident,” Sansa says firmly.

“Says who?” Ergor watches her thoughtfully, tilting his head, “do you believe such lies?”

“Robert Baratheon bashed his chest in, hundreds of people saw it,” Sansa presses pointedly, “Do you have the other one? Dark Sister it’s called.”

“No other was found,” Ergor tells her and then looks at his son, hissing in the winter language as he motions towards Sansa. Then he looks at her, a frown curving his lips downward, “Go back to your room. Leave the sword.”

Sansa sets it aside and edges away from Ergor, watching Eindride and his Father cautiously. Eindride looks angry, hissing in the ice language at his Father. When she reaches the door she darts down the hall and back up towards the surface caves. It was an impossible fact and Ergor had to be lying to her. Someone must have stolen the sword and carried it out beyond the wall. Plenty of people had made money off the rubies that fell from Rhaegar’s chest plate; it wouldn’t surprise her if they stole the sword as well.

 

* * *

 

               She’s half way to her rooms when she takes a wrong turn and finds herself lost. She walks a ways until she finds an open door, hoping that whoever was inside was friendly. The room is empty and neat, a cold fire burns in the hearth, a bed in the corner is covered with clean folded furs, books are stacked neatly on the table in the other corner. Sansa examines a few, wondering who slept in this room. She jumps at a sound outside, hoping she hadn’t been caught snooping. It’s then she notices the heavy fur cloak draped across the chair, a fur cloak that could only belong to Aodhfin.

She was in his room.

Now was her chance, she thought to herself. He wasn’t here and she was alone in his room. She knows it’s wrong as she opens up an old ornate looking wooden chest and picks through his clothes. There’s nothing of interest in it, nothing except old bear skins and funny looking necklaces with tiny teeth tied to them. She starts to shut the chest and turn away when a glint of steel catches her eye. Frowning, she digs towards the bottom of the chest curiously, the bottom gives way and she lifts, blinking at the sight before her. Her fingers slide along the glinting black armor, the faded red three headed dragon, and the pock marks where rubies used to glint in the sunlight. She drops the false bottom like she’d been burned and stumbles away from the chest, shock and horror etched across her face.

“No…” she shakes her head, stumbling towards the door before she trips herself up and lands hard on her side. It doesn’t slow her down though; it only makes her scramble faster. Faster and faster, her skirt twisted around her legs as she staggers to her feet and dashes out the door, only to slam right into Aodhfin. She stares up at him in horror and yanks away from him despite his cries of alarm, and runs down the hall, uncaring where she went. Behind him Ergor stands, and Aodhfin watches her go with alarm.

“What’s gotten into her?” he frowns as he watches Sansa run. He steps into his room, and the first thing he notices is his clothing chest lying open. He steps closer and looks in, frowning at the sight before him. “ _Bollocks_ …” he scowls and looks back at Ergor solemnly. “She knows.”


	10. A Different Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones.

There was a funny sort of ringing in her ears as she darted down the halls, her fingers twisting nervously in her gown to keep it up and away from her ankles as she moved. There had to be a logical explanation as to why Aodhfin had Rhaegar Targaryen’s old armor. She could still remember it clearly, the glistening black metal, the three headed dragon, the rather large and ugly dent where Robert Baratheon smashed the side of his chest plate in. The metal had been completely ripped through like someone had torn it with their bare hands. She wished she’d never found it, she wanted to simply go on believing he was some over educated drunken wildling living with the winter children. He couldn’t be Rhaegar, how did he survive? Hundreds of people saw him _die_ , it made absolutely no sense.

                              She hides in her room, unable to face what she knows is impossible but true nonetheless. She doesn’t want to see him, she doesn’t want to hear his voice or speak to him. He kidnapped her Aunt, he raped her, he got her killed. He caused the destruction of his own House; he abandoned his duty and his honor and brought ruin and war to a once peaceful realm. He was the very definition of villain. If she weren’t such a lady she’d tell him so, in detail what she thought of him and his foolish actions. Instead she curls up on her bed and stares at nothing, her mind drifting rampantly over everything she’s witnessed.

 

* * *

 

               Days go by, in and out like a lazy summer dream. Sansa is drifting in her thoughts while Mariska and Hrelena come and go each day; she acts everything out mechanically, the same routine each day. Finally another comes without knocking, without so much as a word as she steps into the room and sits down.

“Tesha,” Sansa says quietly, watching the other woman wearily.

“I’ve come on business of my son,” Tesha says as she regards Sansa thoughtfully, “You’re angry with him and I’d like to know why. My son’s knowledge of the common tongue is highly limited as I’m sure you’ve noticed. He would ask you himself why you’re upset but he finds it difficult.”

“He knew didn’t he?” Sansa says almost forlornly. Betrayal stung like acid, and it made her heart ache to think about him.

“Of course,” Tesha replies, “we all did. What I don’t think you understand is that here, Rhaegar Targaryen no longer exists. He sought out a life where he would no longer be who he was, and he found that here. We do not believe in titles or Houses, Kings or Queens, we have no hierarchy, we have no financial system to which we bicker over, we have no battles for land because we all live beneath the same roof. Here, you are only your name…and when Rhaegar Targaryen came to us, we took away his name and his title and his past and gave him a new one. He wanted to stop existing and we helped him achieve that. We don’t think the same way your people do; we don’t hold those deep seated needs for gold or land. We have no use for it here. The only thing we crave is freedom, and we are held prisoner behind that wall your ancestors built. Rhaegar traded his knowledge for freedom, the right to be whoever he wanted to be. Here you are only your name, and names are important here. I am the wife of Ergorathe, which is all I’m known as here. You are the guest of Ergorathe; my son is the son of Ergorathe.”

Sansa is quiet as she ponders her words, “He wronged the Starks,” Sansa says softly, “He kidnapped my Aunt and he raped her.”

“You are not a Stark anymore,” Tesha says flatly, “and Rhaegar is not a Targaryen anymore. He is simply Rhaegar and you are simply Sansa here.”

“It still _matters_ ,” Sansa glowers at her, “he brought ruin to an entire realm because of his irresponsibility!”

“You don’t know his story Sansa,” Tesha tells her softly, “you don’t know what he went through, as I don’t know what life you lived before you came here. What I can tell you is that the life you once lived is gone, and you are not Sansa Stark anymore. You are only Sansa, and you are free to be whoever you want here.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Sansa says darkly, glowering at the flames in the hearth.

“It does,” Tesha says firmly, “you still cling to your old life; you need to let it go now. Let it wash away like sand on a shoreline. When Rhaegar came here, he was no longer the Silver Prince, the Targaryen heir. He was no longer the man who brought ruin to his realm. His crimes were washed away and he became Aodhfin.”

“He doesn’t even sound like what I’d imagine he’d sound like,” Sansa frowns thoughtfully.

“He’s a very good actor,” Tesha smiles faintly, “he’s had years of practice being someone else.”

“He doesn’t even _look_ like a Targaryen,” Sansa muses aloud as she turns to look at Tesha, “How is that possible?”

“Magic,” Tesha shrugs, “I don’t know how he gained such power or where he got it from. That is a story for him to tell. If you want answers you need to ask him. Now, enough about Aodhfin. I came here because I am concerned for my son. He cares for you, anyone with eyes can see that...don’t hold it against him that he kept this from you. In his mind it didn’t matter, because we don’t believe in such things. He wasn’t Rhaegar anymore, he was Aodhfin. So Eindride felt that it didn’t matter, Rhaegar no longer existed in his eyes so there was no offense.”

Sansa shakes her head, rubbing her face tiredly, “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I imagined you didn’t,” Tesha tells her quietly, “when I first came here to live with Ergor I found it a struggle to let go of who I was before and become simply Tesha. I figured you were having the same problem I did.”

“Does he know about this too?” Sansa asks, a thought forming in her mind as she rolls back her sleeve and shows Tesha her wrist, “does he know what’s happening to me?”

“Of course,” Tesha says as she watches the ice dancing beneath Sansa’s skin, “That’s how it started for me as well. Love does strange things to us…its magic really. Did you think Eindride would let you wither away and die while he went on? Humans are so short lived compared to our kind.”

“You’re immortal?” Sansa blinks, frowning at her.

“No,” Tesha laughs a little, “Just very long lived. Nobody save the gods is immortal Sansa. Not even the children of the forest…even they die eventually.”

“Nobody asked me what I wanted,” Sansa says after a while, “turning me into a white walker…”

“You came to us,” Tesha says, “We took you in where we found you in the snow lost and alone. My son liked you and courted you and Aodhfin taught you the ways of our kind. It’s only natural that you embrace what we are and become like us. It’s as I told you…when you come here, everything that you once were is gone and you start over, you become someone else.”

“I wasn't lost and alone, I had Theon with me and I was looking for my brother,” Sansa frowns at her; “I was searching for Bran and Rickon. I saw Bran at the tree…the one where the children live.”

“Eindride was protecting you,” Tesha says softly, “he knew what you were becoming…the sunlight would hurt you if exposed in it for too long. He is less tolerant of it then you, but he risked his own safety regardless to make sure you didn’t get hurt. The children are not our friends, but they aren’t stopping us from breaching the wall regardless. They want to their freedom as much as we do.” She pauses for a moment, watching her thoughtfully, “do you think us an evil people for it? All you have is enemies on the other side of that wall. My husband wields an army so vast as to conquer any who oppose us. Why would you want to hinder someone who could easily destroy your enemies for you?”

“Because there aren’t just my enemies beyond the wall. Innocent people live there too, people with families and children,” Sansa frowns, worry in her eyes.

Tesha sighs wearily, “And those people conquer and destroy too. There is no such thing as evil in this world Sansa. Everyone does what they do for a reason, sometimes it’s for power, sometimes it’s to protect those that they love, sometimes it’s because they enjoy war. Everyone has a motive, and in their minds, they think their actions are good and just. Ergor does what he does because he believes what he does is good and just, it’s for the wellbeing of all of us to wipe out the humans and take back the land that was ours long before they ever came here.”

“Why can’t we coexist?” Sansa asks quietly, frowning at her.

“Because the humans tend to destroy what they don’t understand,” Tesha explains patiently, “look what the Kinslayer did to the children of the forest who lived at High Heart.” She pauses for a moment, as if pondering a distant memory, “I’ve lived many lifetimes Sansa. Long enough to have survived the Long Night itself, I remember how we feared the white walkers, we knew those stories weren’t something our nan’s told us to keep us in our beds at night for fear we might run out into the cold and the snow and get sick.  They were real…and people spent many a night fearing that the white walkers would come and destroy everything they held dear. At the time, I thought them evil too. I know differently now…but it was a long journey to get to where I am now.” Tesha stands, watching Sansa thoughtfully before she turns for the door, “It will be a long journey for you too Sansa. One I hope will lead you to my son.” Without another word she leaves, and Sansa watches her go quietly.

Tesha had made many valid points, but it didn’t ease the burn of anger she felt towards Rhaegar. The outrage and the insult on behalf of her family who he wronged so greatly.  He kidnapped and raped her Aunt, he ruined his own house in the process…

There she goes again, thinking like a Westrosi.

Sansa grimaces at the thought, rubbing her face tiredly. How did these people abandon their old lives and become someone else anyways? How do you stop being you and be someone else? How is that even possible? How did Rhaegar just stop being Rhaegar and start being Aodhfin?

    

* * *

          

She doesn’t want to speak to him.

He’s tried once or twice, but takes one look at the cool expression on her face before he turns around and walks off. He’s smart to walk away Sansa thinks, and she’s grateful he does. She wonders if she could have held her civility with him if he tried. Instead she lets Eindride distract her with kisses and lessons in his own language while she tried to teach him hers. It was amusing enough, the two of them trying to teach words for different objects and actions.

               Over time lessons became kissing and kissing became fiercer. Sansa knew better, that her behavior was inappropriate. She’d learned enough in Kings Landing to know better than allow a man, white walker or human alike, get that close to her. Her mind is a hazy fog of wild emotions though; he incites these feelings in her that she doesn’t quite understand. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud when he kisses her, its bliss and lust and joy. Joy because she found someone who’d fight for her, bliss because he was a good man. She wonders at the ice creeping beneath her skin, it doesn’t hurt per say but she knows what will happen eventually. Would she be ok with that? Could she give up her life in Westeros and be someone else here? Become his wife, be one of the winter children?

It wasn’t a question she could answer just yet.

Cool hands slid along her hips as body’s warm and cold press close to one another, his kisses are slow and passionate. When they’ve managed to stop she likes to lean her head on his shoulder and let him hold her. They go on like this for ages, day after day. Then one evening Aodhfin appears in her doorway and she glowers at him, Eindride stiffening against her when he sees him.

“We need to talk,” Aodhfin says as he gazes upon her, “about you and Eindride.”


	11. A Broken Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Sansa says quietly, unable to look at him.

Aodhfin just stares at her before he looks at Eindride and says something odd in the winter language. Eindride glowers at him and then looks at Sansa before he stands, lightly kissing her knuckles before he leaves. Sansa watches him go forlornly, he’d been the only shield she had left to hide behind.

“What did you say to him?” Sansa glares, steeling herself.

“They respect the right of family here,” Aodhfin tells her, “I’m your Uncle and I have a right to speak with you.”

“You are _not_ family,” Sansa says firmly, anger boiling her blood, “you are _not_ my Uncle, you are nothing to me, _nothing_.”

“I am your Uncle by marriage,” Aodhfin reiterates, “I married your Aunt Lyanna. I’m an honorable man; I wouldn’t tarnish her reputation or her virtue.”

“And _honorable_ man wouldn’t force a woman to wed him,” Sansa snaps angrily.

“I never forced her,” he sighs wearily, “I never tricked her, we loved each other. We ran off together.”

“That’s a _lie_ ,” Sansa hisses, “My Father went to the Tower of Joy…he found my Aunt in a pool of her _blood_.”

“The birthing bed is hard,” he growls, “your Aunt was very young. She’d birthed twins but one of them had died, and she died with it.”

“How is it that you managed to survive at all?” Sansa stands, glowering dangerously with her fists clenched at her side, “How is it _you_ get to live while my Aunt dies?”

“I died,” Aodhfin says, “I really did. Robert killed me.”

“I don’t understand,” Sansa frowns in confusion.

“It’s easier if I just show you,” Aodhfin sighs as he reaches for the dragon tooth dangling about his neck. He looks at it fondly for a brief pause, “I gave this to Viserys for his eighth name-day. It’s a real tooth from Balarion the Black Dread. Took me ages to find it. Viserys had given it back to me before I went off to battle as a good luck charm.” He moves to lift the necklace from his neck, and when he does, Sansa gasps in fright, stumbling back and away from him. Everything that was Aodhfin was washing away from him like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. When it was over all that was left was a tall man with close cropped silver curls and a strong face though he was hardly five and twenty anymore. He was more like two and forty, his eyes were bright lilac, and if Sansa hadn’t hated him with every fiber of her being she’d almost say he was handsome.

“That’s better,” his voice sounded different, gone was the thick brogue and accent. Now it was cultured and not nearly as deep. He watches her thoughtfully before he adds, “I know that was a shock to you. It’s magic, all of it.”

When he starts to lift his shirt Sansa lets out a rude noise and quickly turns away, her eyes wide in alarm. “What are _doing_?”

“Showing you,” Rhaegar says gently, as if he feared to frighten her, “all it is, is magic. See?”

When she dares to peek a glance she covers her mouth at the sight. His bare chest was a twisted mass of scar tissue from hip to collarbone; someone had crudely put him back together. “I was carried away from the trident quite dead.” Rhaegar admits to her as she drops his shirt back into place and watches her, “A red priestess called Melisandre brought me back from the dead.”

“A witch?” Sansa says in alarm, “dark magic,” She whispers, recalling what Theon had said about the army of undead just outside the Ice gate.

“No,” he smiles faintly, “the Lord of the Light brought me back. Melisandre helped me hide my face by using another of her talents. She charmed the tooth to create an illusion so I’d look and sound like another. All I had to do is create a personality for him and decide on how he’d speak and act.” Rhaegar smiles faintly, “I’ve always had a bit of love for the theatrics. I apologize if I was horrible with you.”

Sansa sits down heavily on her bed, staring at the Targaryen Prince. Finally after what seemed like ages she says quietly, “why did you want to speak with me?”

“Oh,” Rhaegar smiles faintly, “Straight to that is it? No more questions?”

“I don’t care to know,” Sansa says flatly, staring at her hands.

“I _do_ care however,” Rhaegar says quietly, “I never raped your aunt or hurt her in any fashion. We ran off together and Robert spread those lies to ruin my reputation. Most of it was his own imagination I suppose, he was unable to fathom why Lyanna would abandon him and leave with me. I wed your Aunt in the Valyrian fashion and we spent our remaining days together as man and wife in the Tower of Joy.”

“And Elia Martell?” Sansa snaps, her eyes burning embers as she recalls the murdered princess and her children. If she’d been in Elia’s place, she couldn’t imagine the heartbreak and sorrow she’d feel, the despair that her prince had abandoned she and her children to the monsters that came and murdered them. “What of her? Did she mean so little to you? Did you grow tired of her? What of your children? Had you no thought for them?”

“Elia knew I loved Lyanna,” he sighs, “Elia let us go.”

“And her children?” Sansa snaps, “didn’t you think of them at _all_?”

“Elia told me her brother would come for her; I wasn’t worried for her safety at the time because I believed Oberyn would protect her. He never came unfortunately,” Rhaegar frowns as if deep in a distant memory, “and my precious boy and sweet daughter were ruthlessly slaughtered along with Elia who had been such a good friend to me. She supported me in everything I did, even when what I longed for might bring her ruin. She respected the idea of true love to much to keep us apart. She longed for it herself, hoped that one day she’d find it too. She even welcomed the idea of me bringing Lyanna back as my second wife. That never happened of course…I never got the chance. I wanted to reconcile everything with your family but nobody would hear me out.”

“You wouldn’t come back for them to hear you out,” Sansa snarls angrily, “you refused to return her!”

“She was my _wife_ Sansa,” Rhaegar counters, “They had no right to her anymore. I wanted to speak with Ned Stark but with Robert whispering in his ear I didn’t stand a chance.”

Sansa simmers quietly, pondering what he told her. It made sense, and of what she recalled of Robert Baratheon, he could be ill-tempered at the best of times. He had been a passionate man with ambition, and his temper was fierce when those he loved had been harmed. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d spent his days worrying her Father with his fears about Rhaegar and Lyanna.  Finally something else he’d said clicked into place as her temper calmed, and she raised her eyes to look at him in quiet surprise, “Birthing?”

“What?” Rhaegar says as he meets her gaze, “Oh…yes. Lyanna bore twins…we lost the little girl, the boy lived though. I haven’t a clue what happened to him of course, all I know is Ned Stark carried him off after Lyanna died. I tried to find out, Ergor sent white ravens over the wall but the weather was too warm for them to stay long. I don’t even know if he’s _alive_.”

Ned Stark had kept the boy.

Sansa stares at Rhaegar, the pieces clicking into place, “ _Jon_ ,” she breaths aloud in shock. Jon her half-brother wasn’t her half-brother at all, he was cousin. Jon was a Targaryen; Jon was heir to the Iron Throne.

It was too much to process.

“What?” Rhaegar asks, his head snapping up at the sound of Jon’s name. “Yes that’s right, that’s the name Lyanna and I chose if they babe were a boy. If it were a girl we’d name her Visenya.”

“Jon and Visenya,” Sansa says as she stands, watching Rhaegar, “Jon lived…my Father took him in and told everyone he was his bastard. He’d never tell us who his Mother was, no matter how my Mother pestered him.”

“You’re sure?” Rhaegar asks, a light in his eyes, “My son lives?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “Jon took the black, he’s living at the wall…” she trails off, frowning, “Or he did.”

“What do you mean by that?” Rhaegar frowns, “has something happened to him?”

“They murdered him,” Sansa frowns as she stares at her hands, “the brothers of the Night’s Watch…for mutiny apparently. He was Lord Commander at the time.” Jon had been her last hope, and when he died he took all hope she had left in her with him. It burned to think she knew the truth of his parentage and he would never know now.

Rhaegar is quiet for so long she fears he might be weeping. He looked so broken and full of despair as he stood there, his back to her as he stares out the open door of her solar and out towards the open windows. Finally he says, “I can’t think on this anymore…there are other things that are important now. You are one of them namely….I owe it to Lyanna to see you safely to the wall…you and your brother.”

“I don’t want to go to the wall,” Sansa frowns at him worriedly, “I’m happy here.”

“You have to go,” Rhaegar says as he looks at her solemnly, “when I gave Ergor that information all the Starks that I knew of were safely on the other side of that wall. Now it isn’t just you here, it’s your brother Bran too. If you won’t help Ergor, he’ll make war on the children if he has too, just to get his hands on your brother. When you and Eindride went to that tree and you saw Bran, Ergor found out about it. He knows what the word _brother_ means in our language, and he knew what that meant.”

“I don’t want to leave Eindride,” Sansa says softly, frowning, “I’m happy here…and it’s been a long while since I’ve ever been happy.”

Rhaegar sighs and shakes his head, “Ergor will go to any length to breach that wall. If you love his son you’ll be more willing to help him. This is what he wants Sansa, not to say that Eindride is trying to trick you into loving him, but he also knows what his Father wants as well. Day by day you become more like them and less human. This is what he _wants_. I cannot allow him to get past that wall…this is my fault. Though honestly I had no idea you were a Stark nor did I know your brother was here too. You don’t even look like a Stark…you have the Tully coloring I think. Your Mother was Catelyn Stark yes? I would imagine so, considering what my Father did to Brandon. It makes sense that Ned would take his place.”

“I love him,” Sansa says so quietly Rhaegar barely heard it, “I _love_ him…I don’t want to go.”

Rhaegar looks sad at that, like he was caught in a memory of his own before he shakes his head, “You must. This goes beyond love Sansa…the whole of Westeros is in danger now. You and your brother crossing beyond the wall are like dropping the key to Ergor’s dungeon cell in his _lap_.”

“You ran off with Lyanna,” Sansa narrows her eyes dangerously, “you abandoned your wife and your children, your kingdom…your crown…everything! Why can’t I do the same? Why can’t I just be with someone I love?”

“ _Because I’m trying to save you from making the same mistakes I did_!” he snaps, immediately regretting his fierce anger when she relents from him quickly. He sighs and looks away from her, “We loved each other and we were very young. Later I would come to regret my actions; I wished I’d done it differently. I brought ruin to my House and got many people killed. I never knew what happened to Viserys and Daenerys, nor my Lady Mother.”

“She died during childbirth on Dragonstone,” Sansa says quietly, unable to look at him, “and your siblings fled for the free cities….the last thing I heard were that your sister wed a Dothraki Horse lord, Khal Drogo. I don’t know what happened to her after that.”

“So they might still be alive then?” Rhaegar says with quiet hope, “I might be able to find them.”

“Maybe,” Sansa replies, “but will they want to see you?”

“I don’t know,” he admits thoughtfully, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I’m not leaving,” Sansa tells her firmly, “Eindride won’t force me into anything.”

“No,” Rhaegar says as he turns to leave, meeting her gaze pointedly, “but if you won’t, Ergor will force your brother to. Think on that.” Then he’s gone, stepping out of her chambers without so much as a sound.

 

* * *

 

The cold winter air burned against Theon’s face as they rode out beyond the wall, a line of black destriers carrying food and supplies and tents. There were ten of them in total, strong and skilled warriors of the Nights watch. Jon held a map in his lap as he rode, eyeing the land thoughtfully. Theon rode behind him, staring at the reins in his hands, feeling guilty. The armor he wore was worn and tired, borrowed cloak and armor from Edd as they hadn’t the time to make Theon official yet.

This was a good thing.

He tried to see it as that, he never imagined he’d become part of the watch. He always imagined when he was younger becoming Lord of the Iron Isles, of salt wives and a pretty wife to give him heirs. Ramsay made sure to ruin that for him, Ramsay made him pay for what he did in ways that haunted his worst nightmares. He still weeps at night when he wakes from them, still weeps for the horrible things he did to the Starks. He couldn’t bear to think of Eddard Stark, the man who held him hostage all those years but treated him like family, like he was his own _son_. Ned Stark had given him a good life, and all the Stark children were his siblings. He still wonders what madness overcame him to do such a horrible thing, but he never wants to fall into such a thing again.

He hoped the Nights Watch would make him a better man.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

When he dreamed, he still dreamed of Ramsay and his horrible grinning smirk. He still dreamed of the agony he endured, he still dreamed of sleeping on kennel floors with the dogs, of punishment for not using the name _Reek_ instead of Theon.

“Theon?” Jon frowns, looking up from his supper before a fire. Beside Jon, Theon slept curled on furs and dreaming of past horrors. “What was that you said?”

“Nothing,” Theon says as he awakes sleepily, wondering what it was he’d said in his sleep that Jon had heard. Around him others were still awake but that was no surprise. Theon had fallen asleep the moment they’d sat down for supper. He was still so tired he’d been grateful to be given a horse to ride on; Ramsay would have never given him that. He’d have been made to walk behind them through the horseshit that trailed along the snow after them.

“Green boy’s having himself a nightmare,” one of the rangers grins and there’s a resounding quiet chuckle through the camp as he says it. “Nothing out here going to get you save the wolves boy,” the man says.

That’s precisely why he’s scared.

Wolves, direwolves even. Direwolves would come and gobble him up and he’d deserve it for what he did. When Theon looks up the sky overhead is filled with stars, glittering like diamonds in an icy clear sky. It’s bitterly cold but he’s warm beneath the armor and heavy fur cloak that were given to him. That and the large fire that burned between them all brought in the heat and light Theon desperately craved right then. Fire would keep those creatures away too, fire would keep him safe.  “Another half a day’s ride I think,” Jon says as he looks up at Theon, “I was looking the map over earlier, I think we’re getting close.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ranged out this far before,” one ranger says to Jon, Theon thinks his name might be Henry, “be it we might run across your Uncle Benjen.”

Jon stiffens but doesn’t look up as he replies, “No doubt if we do my Uncle won’t be as he was.”

“No doubt,” Henry says quietly, realizing his folly as he stares down at the tin plate in his lap and what’s left of his meal, “my apologizes Lord Commander I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” Jon says as he looks up at last, “I’ve accepted my Uncle’s fate long ago.”

There is a quiet rumbling amongst the men, a titter of agreeance. They all knew the truth without seeing it, Benjen Stark was dead. The First Ranger under the old Bear Mormont’s command had disappeared on a range and never returned.

“Tomorrow we ride for the Broken Tooth Pass,” Jon announces to them all, “and beyond that should be the outpost we seek. I can’t pretend to tell you that this will be an easy mission because it won’t. You’ve all see these creatures, that’s why I chose you. You know what we’re up against.”

“If the last Stark is in danger,” Henry says, “we’re with you Jon. It’s our job to safeguard Westeros, and if one of its people wander out here, that’s our responsibility too. She should have never gotten so far out without us noticing…we failed you.”

Jon shakes his head tiredly, “No Henry,” he tells him quietly, “We’ve spent years guarding the wall and we know that anyone with good sense wouldn’t venture out beyond it because of the Wildlings. We don’t bother guarding the ruins of other castles because we believe nobody would dare venture out into the wilds beyond the wall. We cannot hold ourselves accountable for every person who gets it in them to wander out here alone. We have neither the men nor the resources to hold them all out and we shouldn’t have to defend the wall on both sides. Lady Stark did what she did of her own free will and though I worry for her as she is my half-sister, you cannot blame yourselves for it.”

“We’ll find her Jon,” Edd says after a long while.

“I certainly hope so,” Jon agrees as he stares into the flames of the hearth thoughtfully.

 

* * *

 

               In the morning they pack up and move on, a line of obsidian horses trailing along over ridges and snow banks. The weather at the top of the pass was frigid and icy, and it was a struggle to make it down safely. Twice Theon almost lost his barring’s and fell from his horse, the wind howling against the mountainside. He and Sansa had never come this way, though Theon couldn’t quite remember how the white walkers and taken them beyond it and to the outpost. At the bottom of the mountain they break for lunch, crusted bread and salted beef with a little summer wine to tide them over. Afterwards they start again, this time Theon a little more enthusiastic now that he was warm and full.

               In the distance he sought for the outpost but everything out here looked the same. Everything was covered in snow, everything was white and rocky and cold. After a little while, he dismounts and turns in a circle, Jon watching him thoughtfully.

“Theon what is it?” he asks curiously.

“Jon,” Theon frowns, “Jon I swear it’s out here…I know it is.”

“I believe you Theon,” Jon says, “mayhaps it’s a little farther ahead?”

“Any farther and we’d be riding into the shivering sea,” Edd says quietly.

Ignoring Edd’s comment Theon walks and walks, kicking at snow, brushing it away from boulders and rocks buried beneath it. “I know it’s here…I _know_ it is…” Theon murmurs to himself, trying to swallow his panic. If he couldn’t find it, they couldn’t find Sansa.

“Theon,” Jon says, standing just behind him now. Theon hadn’t even noticed Jon dismount and chase after him. “Theon stop…Theon _stop_!” Jon shouts, catching his friend’s hands and halting his progress. “Theon, you’ll give yourself frostbite digging in the snow like that.”

“Jon they must have buried it!” There are tears glistening in his eyes, guilt and shame and despair at being unable to find the outpost, “that’s how their doing it! They must have buried the damn thing so nobody could find it! They can control the weather Jon; I’ve seen them do it. They might have just moved the snow to blend it in with everything else.”

“Theon,” Jon says slowly, patiently, “we'll find it.”

Theon shakes his head, turning his back to the men who watched he and the Lord Commander. He wipes the tears from his cold cheeks and stares at his feet. It was hard for Jon to watch him, he remembered a boy who was forever laughing and smiling, now all he saw was a broken man who startled at the slightest sound and cowered at the sound of a blade being drawn. Theon hesitantly follows Jon back to his horse and climbs back on, unable to look anyone in the eye as he does. He is embarrassed and forlorn, despairing of ever finding Sansa now.

“We’re too open out here,” Jon says after a while, “We need to find a place with cover to camp….move on.” Jon says, as he motions with his hand to do so, and the group rides forward as one.

              

* * *

 

               They were well and truly lost, and Theon knew it. It wasn’t that they couldn’t find their way back to the wall, he was certain they could. It was that they’d lost their surroundings and Jon couldn’t pin down where he thought the outpost would be anymore. Overhead a crow circles or it might have been a raven, and Theon glances up, squinting in the fading sunlight at it. It’d been following them for miles now, probably hoping they’d drop something for it to gobble up along the way.

“Bird’s been following us for hours,” Edd nods towards it when he notices Theon looking, “they do that sometimes.”

“Might be we could catch it,” Henry sniffs, “it would make for a hot supper.”

“Ravens are full of disease you idiot,” Edd cuffs Henry behind the ear lightly; “you’d be sick or worse within a few days.”

Henry grimaces at the smack and chuckles lightly, stepping away from Edd as he turns to help another get the campfire started. They’d chosen a remote location beneath the over crop of a boulder. It was defendable enough on one side only, the other they’d have to take their chances. Above them the raven circles again, cawing loudly as its beady black eyes watch the men below before looping one last time and flying off into the distance.

“Must of gave up,” Edd chuckles as he watches it go.

“Good riddance,” Henry adds with a scowl.

 

* * *

 

               Behind them Theon sits with Jon against the stone wall, Theon’s gaze is desolate and hollow. Jon can see the hope fading in him and tries his best to keep it lit, “Theon,” Jon says thoughtfully after a time, “if you were a white walker, how would you bury that outpost?”

“Like I said,” Theon tells him quietly, “I’d use the snow to hide it.”

“And do you remember what it was made of? Was it stone or ice or rock?” Jon asks him, pondering Theon's words.

“Ice,” he says as he recalls, “It was made of ice.”

“How many did you see there?” Jon presses curiously.

“Thousands,” Theon tells him, “Most dead. There were wildlings and soldiers and knights…every sort of dead creature you could think of. I saw children too, menacing little things with hollow eyes and clawed fingers.”

“ _By the seven_ ,” Jon closes his eyes, recalling what he saw of the children back at the Wildling camp. He’d never seen such a horrible sight, for the Night’s King to bewitch children and use them in his army. It was despicable. With a sigh he opens his eyes and looks at Theon thoughtfully, “what else did you see?”

“One of em had taken a liking to Sansa,” Theon says, “he carried her off on his horse. She was stumbling around in the snow and they were being cruel to her and he just rode up and offered his hand to her.” Theon remembered it clearly and he was both grateful for the kindness and terrified as to why it was offered. He’d been pushed and shoved back towards the end of the caravan, back near the smell of rot and dead bodies as the Night’s King’s army trailed along behind them.

               This news worried Jon even more. What if they abused her? What if they hurt her? He’d heard the stories of what Ramsay had done to her, of what Joffrey had done. Even Robb had failed to save her, and now he was failing too. He didn’t want Theon to know his despair however, if Theon or his men witnessed their Lord Commander’s sorrow they’d surely start to give up too.  As the night wears on, Jon lies down on soft furs and clothes his eyes against the bitter cold and the wind and tries to get some sleep. The fire was warm enough near them, at least enough to keep the bitter cold from killing them while they sleep.

 

* * *

 

               In the morning, Jon wakes as the sun rises and packs up, stepping around the still sleeping men to stretch his legs a bit before loading everything onto his horse. What bids him to walk the length of the snowbank, he never knew. He knows that when he reaches the top, he watches the sunrise quietly and wonders as the icy wind hits his face if Sansa still lives to witness the same. As he watches he notes something in the distance, and at first he thought it was Ghost. Then as he stares, he sees the difference in color, the patches of brown and grey and tawny in his fur. “ _Summer_!” Jon shouts, shocked by the dire wolf’s appearance.

“Not bloody likely to come if you ask me,” Edd grouses aloud, aroused from his slumber by Jon’s shouting, “cold enough to freeze my balls off out here.”

“Jon?” Theon asks, awake now as well, “What is it?”

“It’s Summer,” Jon shouts down to Theon, “I see Summer!”

“Bran’s direwolf?” Theon frowns, sitting up now, “why would Summer be way out here?”

“I don’t know,” Jon replies and starts back towards his horse, throwing his pack on hastly before mounting. “But I’m going to find out.”

“Jon _wait_!” Theon calls but his friend was already off, pacing Summer at a slow trot over the crest of the ridge and down the other side.

The wolf watched him from a distance, disappearing again and again only to reappear on another ridge in the distance. Jon whistles loudly, calling Ghost to his side. Ghost follows along behind him and then darts forward, chasing after Summer. “Well you’re no help!” Jon shouts at Ghost’s back as he runs off.

 Behind him Theon rides, driving his horse carefully over the snowbanks and down the ridges to catch up to Jon, “Jon slow down!” Theon calls to him, “the others aren’t even packed up yet!”

“Let them stay a bit,” Jon calls back, “I think Summer wants to show me something.” In the distance his intelligent eyes would stop and watch Jon, Ghost at his side who slides his muzzle along Summer's shoulder in greeting before looking back at Jon.

“Jon wait for me!” Theon shouts, struggling to catch up.

They follow the two dire wolves over ridges and through valleys, and when they finally catch up their led into a dense forest where the weirwoods grow wildly and taller than Jon’s ever seen one grow. He and Theon follow along behind them at a slow trot, Theon occasionally glancing behind him worriedly. He didn’t like leaving the others behind but he’d relayed Jon’s message to them before chasing after the Lord Commander. They weren’t that far away, maybe a couple of miles.

               When the forest breaks and the tree line gives way to an open icy plain, Jon gasps upon the sight of a weirwood bigger than any before it.  Summer stands at the base of it, watching him with keen eyes. Ghost follows him, the two disappearing into the dark open maw of a stone doorway.

“Jon,” Theon says nervously, “I don’t know about this.”

Jon slides down off his horse and looks back at Theon, “Ghost has never led me wrong before Theon. That’s Summer, Bran’s direwolf. I don’t know what’s brought him out here and I’m afraid to guess. Sansa being out here is one thing, but _Bran_ too? He’s no more than six and ten by now.” It put Jon on edge, the idea of Bran being out here. The last time he saw Bran he was no more than a boy of seven. How or why Bran would be out here too was beyond him. Summer was clearly trying to show him something, and it might just be Bran himself.

               Above him a raven caws as he walks towards the base of the tree, his eyes raise toward it wearily. That was the same raven that had been following them days ago. Cautiously he steps through the stone doorway, peering into the darkness. All he saw were old snarled roots hanging from the walls, twisting their way across the floor like hands groping at the stone. Beneath his boots the bones of creatures he had no name for crunched beneath him and Jon hoped these creatures hadn’t died miserably, he hoped Bran’s bones wouldn’t be among them too.

“Bran,” Jon says aloud and his voice echoes in a way that makes Jon uneasy, “Bran are you there? Summer?”

“Jon?” Bran’s voice now, echoing from the back of the cave, “I’m here Jon, just around the bend.”

“Bran?” Jon says, rushing around the corner and down the long cold corridor, feeling his way through the darkness, “Bran I’m here, it’s Jon.”

He stops short, his eyes on the old man twisted into the roots of the great weirwood above them, his eyes as white as milk. Then he looks down at the floor and sees Bran, older and taller than he remembered, smiling at him, “ _Finally_!”

 

 


	13. To Put The Past Behind Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Irseka was the second female winter child that Sansa had ever seen. It was hard not to stare, she was quite beautiful. Her skin glistened with a touch of hoarfrost and her eyes glowed like sapphires in her thin delicate face. She was gaunt and lithe like all the rest of her kind, something Sansa imagined was because none of them ever ate or drank anything. Tesha had brought her to Sansa one afternoon, declaring that it was high time Sansa spent time with someone other than her son and the books in the library. Irseka couldn’t speak a word of the common tongue and often times when she spoke the winter tongue it sent shivers of cold down Sansa’s spine. Irseka wasn’t accustomed to being around humans and she did not withhold the power of her language from Sansa, using its full strength instead. Tesha had to remind her repeatedly to be cautious, that Sansa was still quite human and delicate, easily made cold. Sansa was getting better accustomed to the language though, and the cold was not so intolerable anymore.

“I was telling Irseka this morning that something _must_ be done about your lack of training and knowledge in the ways of our people,” Tesha tells Sansa lightly, “I worry that when the gathering comes you’ll be shamed for your lack of knowledge. Ergor is unforgiving with humans; I don’t want to give him any more to use against you.”

“He hates me that much does he?” Sansa asks quietly.

“No,” Tesha smiles wanly, “not hate…merely cautious. He’s quick to condemn the humans; he expects nothing but stupidity from them.” She sighs, a single pale finger drawing patterns on the table between them, “when I was human, the first time I ever saw Ergor was as a young woman of ten and nine. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful before.” She sighs dreamily at the memory, a little smile curving her lips, “and when they carried me off, I went willingly. I was a foolish girl though…I thought it was to him I was being taken. In reality, I was being carried off to be a bred like they often do. I was much like you, a lady of the court and it took me a long while to grow enough nerve to stand against my captors.  One day, I was out with a group of women being heard from one cavern to another when an avalanche struck. The winter children are powerful and strong,” Tesha tells Sansa with a tilt of her head, “but we can’t stop avalanches, nor can we outrun them. Ergor was pinned beneath the ice. There I was, alone with him because everyone else had been buried or fled. They’d been carrying a prize back with them, a Valyrian steel sword taken from one of their foes in battle. That sword lay there on the ice between I and Ergor and he thought I would take it up and kill then, I had the opportunity. I could have killed him and fled but I didn’t, because I’d never seen a man so strong or so beautiful and I hadn’t the heart to kill him. So I helped him out from under the ice and back onto his horse. Then I climbed onto the back of it and went returned to the caverns. From that day on he saw me, actually properly _saw_ me for the first time. I was nothing more than a hostage before, but after that day I became something more in his eyes.” She sighs with a little shrug as she looks at Sansa, “after that, we fell in love, we bound ourselves to each other and I bore him Eindride.”

“Bound yourselves?” Sansa asks, “You mean marriage?”

“No,” Tesha laughs a little at her inexperience, “I mean sex. I told you they don’t believe in rituals….when you lay with someone you love and you decide you are for each other, that’s all there’s to it. You say that you’re married, and then you present yourselves to the gathering as wed.”

“Oh,” Sansa nods, staring at her folded hands on the table. After a while she asks, “What’s the gathering?”

“All the clans come together in the great cavern, the largest one we have save for the treasury. There we discuss the issues that have arisen, what war we make and where, what we have acquired over the last few months since we last had a gathering. We are a unified people Sansa, which is where your people went wrong. We share everything with each other; we all work together. We only have a few laws, and they are important. We do not touch another’s woman, we do not steal from another, and we do not bring harm to one another. The penalty for breaking these laws is swift and harsh. It is the price we pay for peace among our kind.”

 

* * *

 

               The laws among them were few but important, that much Sansa understood. The people of Westeros did not exist with so few laws, but with many. Perhaps if her own kind had lived differently, more like the winter children did, they would not war as often.  Tesha seemed convinced of an eminent binding between her and Eindride. Sansa wouldn’t object to it, she was happy here. Then again, in the back of her mind she still thinks of her brothers, of the wall, of the weight on her shoulders. To stay would be to abandon duty for love; to go would be to abandon love for duty.

She was torn.

              During the next few days, she’d be faced with it more often. Rhaegar was relentless, a constant voice in the back of her mind that she could not stay here. She felt it wrong that she should be made to clean up the mess he’d made, that if he’d never told Ergor the truth of the Stark blood that it wouldn’t matter anyhow, that she’d be able to do as her heart longed to do. She was growing more untrusting of Rhaegar with each passing day, unwilling to be alone with him for any length of time. He was becoming restless and she feared what he might do. Then one evening as she sit by the hearth and stare into the blue white flames, pondering the events of the day, Eindride came to visit her.

               Eindride actually spoke to her in common tongue, more than just one or two words this time, but full sentences. He was getting better at the language, and it pleased her to hear him speak to her like that. She’d grown to understand him and know more of him over the passing months, but it had been a slow uphill climb. Her knowledge of the ice language was limited as was his of the common tongue. To hear him speak to her as another might in Westeros brought tears to her eyes. That in turn made him panic and think he’d upset her, but she was happy, weeping and joy were not a concept Eindride understood very well. They don’t express emotion the same way humans do, but they felt it just as keenly.

               Now that he stood in the room she looked up at him expectantly, curiously even. She longed to talk to him, long conversations on lazy afternoons where they could laugh about anything. This barrier between them made it difficult but they were both getting better at it.

“Aodhfin is….bothering you?” He frowns and pauses, as if rolling the words around in his head to ensure they were correct, “my lady?”

“He’s worried,” Sansa tells him quietly as she stares at the hearth, “afraid for me.”

“ _Why_?” he asks, his glowing sapphire eyes narrowing in anger, “why does he fear?”

“The wall,” Sansa says as she looks at him, “The wall in the south,” she says as she points towards the solar where the open windows let the cool icy breeze in, “He fears your Father.”

Eindride snorts derisively, unbuckling the leather belt from his waist and wrapping it around the pommel of his sword before leaning it against the wall. The sword itself was half as tall as Sansa and extremely sharp. Once when she tried to examine it Eindride snatched it away from her, fearful she might cut herself. The blade was dangerous to humans.

Eindride hisses in a way that distantly reminds Sansa of a cat, though she knows it’s the language of winter and no doubt a string of curse words he wouldn’t willing want her to understand. “He will not harm you. I will _end_ him.”

“And usurp your Father?” Sansa quirks a brow at him, “This was your Father’s deal with him, you cannot break your oath to leave him unharmed least you leave Ergorathe an oathbreaker.” He sits beside her, taking her hands into his and kissing her fingertips lightly.

“I will challenge him,” he says, “Law breaker.”

“He’s not touched me,” Sansa begins but his lips on her own cut her off, a cold sweet kiss imbued with a kind of warmth that wasn’t so much physical as it was of the heart.

“ _My_ lady,” he murmurs and his tongue slides against hers and his kisses become hard and passionate. Sansa’s hands slid up his shoulders, her body melted against his, pliant in his hands. He could easily drive her to distraction like this, standing and pulling her with him to the bed. She isn’t sure exactly how she got into his lap, but the collar of her gown is pulled down off her shoulders and his cold lips are pressing butterfly kisses along her skin and collarbone, nipping with sharp white teeth along her skin. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it sent a shock of pain and pleasure through her, her back arching and her breasts pressing up against the leather of his jerkin.

               He’s gentle when he lays her back against the furs and fumbles with the ties of his jerkin before tossing it to the floor, Sansa’s fingers dancing along the hem of his tunic before pulling it off and over his head. It’s been so long since she’s been loved, since someone cared about her. Sansa Stark could withstand the icy wind of the cold and horrors of the world for as long as needed, she was that strong. It was nice however, to let those defenses down and be herself, just be Sansa without fear of reprisal. She sings to him, soft whispers of encouragement and pleasure and joy as his fingers deftly untie her gown and her own push his breeches down off his hips.

There was a turning point here.

               It was that moment when they lay bare to each other, bodies sliding against each other in a symphony of love and passion that she wonders if she could ever come back from this. Sex was sex here, unless agreed upon otherwise. When the tip of his cock presses against her and his breathing is shaky against her shoulder, withholding himself until her trembling calmed, Sansa presses a kiss to his shoulder in answer. She lets out a gasp of air when he settles himself within her, closing her eyes against the sensation. Was it wrong to want to love someone? She’s given everything she could in Westeros, she followed the rules and she did what she had to, she deserved a little happiness. Moving together was like bliss and euphoria, it was passion and soft love, tears slid down her cheeks and he’d kiss them away, her legs pulled up around his hips and his body rocks against hers.

Her tears were beginning to freeze against her cheeks.

When she breathed, it was like trying to breath in the icy wind, it was like ice was settling in the pit of her stomach, spreading out like vines creeping through her blood, through every cell in her body. She closes her eyes and his lips presses kisses against them, his body filling her with his seed. Sansa gasps, arches her back, caught between bliss and shock. He settles against her, and for the first time since she’s known him, he feels _warm_.

“ _My_ lady,” he murmurs quietly against her neck, “My love.”

“Oh yes,” Sansa agrees, “Always.”

It takes her a few seconds to realize that she hadn’t spoken in common tongue. The words that tumble from her lips were the winter language; a language up until this point had evaded her completely. Yet now she wonders how she’d never spoken it before, the words came to her so easily, like it was instinct, like it was part of her. It was nature and the way the earth speaks to her. Outside she could hear the wind howl in the blizzard, but it wasn’t howling it was _song_. It was music so sweet that she now understood why the winter children enjoyed it so much. It was empowering, it was lulling and gentle. When she opens her eyes to look at him, her skin as pale as ice and her red hair wild like fire around her face, winter itself wraps it's cold hands around her beating heart and freezes it. Sansa gasps at the shock of pain, the breath knocked from her lungs. Above her Eindride cradles her to him, as if aware of the pain she must feel and unable to sooth it. Instead he kisses her forehead and murmurs soft words of love, and when she opens her eyes to look at him, they glowed a bright cerulean blue. 

 

* * *

 

“Bran?” Jon says, staring down at his half-brother, “Bran…what is this place?”

“The heart tree,” Bran explains, “This is where the children of the forest live.”

Jon looks about him, from the old roots to the bones crunching beneath his feet. Then his gaze finds leaf and he resists the urge to jump back, how long had she been standing there? He’d never heard her move and she was standing within arm’s reach of him.  She was the oddest looking creature he’s ever seen, her skin looked like the bark of a tree and her eyes glittered like firelight in her oval shaped face. Her hair was wild atop her head, and her clothes were made from the leaves of the tree above them.

Well…he’s seen white walkers, why not the children of the forest too?

“Jon Snow,” Leaf says as she watches him thoughtfully. Beside her, Ghost trots up and sits, and her hand darts out to scratch him behind his ears almost lovingly.

“There _real_ ,” Jon says, watching her wearily.

“Yes,” Bran agrees, and so much more than that. Jon…we have a problem and I can’t do anything to help. I’ve tried, but the Night’s King has killed every raven that went anywhere near his home. He knows the children spy on him and he kills any bird that isn’t one of his white ravens.”

“Bran,” Jon says as he turns his gaze on the man in the tree behind him, “Who’s that…and why’s he in a tree?”

“I am Bloodraven,” the man in the tree says, “Jon Snow.”

“Everyone seems to know who I am,” Jon says thoughtfully, “I fear I’m at a disadvantage. I came out here in search of Sansa…have you seen her?”

“Yes,” Bran nods, “She’s with the Night’s King. I tried to drive the white walker who held her back but he dragged her along with him.” Bran frowns thoughtfully, “She had every opportunity…I don’t understand…”

“Neither do I,” Jon agrees quietly, “Bran…I need to get you back beyond the wall.”

Bran shakes his head, “I’m fine here Jon, I want to stay.”

“Bran I can’t protect you out here. How are you going to get home?” Jon frowns at him worriedly.

“I have Hodor and Meera Reed with me,” Bran explains, “I’ll be fine. You need to find Sansa though.”

“I would if I could,” Jon explains, “We’ve been out ranging for her for days now. We’ve started going in circles trying to find her.”

Bran nods, “The way is dangerous,” he tells Jon quietly, “I’ve seen it through the raven’s eyes, the Night’s King is clever…you’ll never find his home least he allows it.”

“You have to find her soon,” Leaf cuts in, a warning in her voice, “she drifts farther and farther from herself.”

“What does that mean?” Jon narrows his gaze at Leaf, “Is she hurt?”

“No,” Bran replies for Leaf, “but I’ve seen it Jon. It doesn’t make sense though.”

“Jon?” Theon’s voice from somewhere near the cave entrance, “Jon….it’s getting rather cold out here…and I think something’s coming.”

“Bring your friend inside,” Leaf warns Jon, “Or the others will get him for sure. They can sense it when humans walk their lands, they seek them out to add them to the army. It’s a wonder your friend survived as long as he has.”

“Theon!” Jon calls, “come in here…it’s alright.”

There is the sound of scuffling and quiet little gasps of terror, the crunch of bones as a man stumbles his way through the inky darkness towards the stone chamber they stand in. Theon is wide eyed and frightened, his gaze locked on Leaf. “Is that…… _is that_ ….”

“Yes,” Jon nods, “She’s one of the children.”

“Bloody hell,” Theon breaths out and drops to his knees, sitting down roughly on the floor. White walkers and children of the forest. Sansa Stark was certainly taking him for a ride. Long ago he’d have found this a wonder, but now he was weary of everything. It bothered him as he stared at the ground, wondering quietly why there were bones all over the floor. Where did they come from?

“Don’t mind them Theon,” Bran says after a moment, “the bones have been here for ages.”

“Bran!” Theon almost shouts when Jon steps aside and he can see the younger boy. “ _Bran_ …” Theon feels a quiet burst of joy in his chest, grateful to know Bran isn’t dead, “Your sister is out looking for you…or she was… _we_ were looking for you….Bran I’m sorry… _I’m sorry_ …”

“I don’t care,” Bran says flatly, staring Theon down, “You killed Ser Rodrick. You took my home from me; you burned it to the ground. After everything we’ve done for you, everything my _Father_ has done for you, you tried to murder Rickon and I….” Bran shakes his head and looks away, “I don’t care what you have to say.”

Theon nods, shamed as he stares at his feet. He opts to keep silent, afraid to say anymore. He deserved that and so much more.

Jon sighs, his gaze back on the dark narrow hall behind him, “Our horses are out there.”

“They won’t bother your horses unless they’re in need of them,” Leaf tells Jon quietly.

“My friends,” Jon says, “I’m their Lord Commander….I have to go back for them.” It was the middle of the day anyhow; the white walkers don’t like the sunlight.

“I’ll go back for them,” Theon says after a long pause, “I can do it Jon.”

“Theon,” Jon says worriedly, frowning at his friend, “Theon it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t care,” Theon murmurs quietly, “I can do it Jon. I’ll go and find them and bring them here.”

“Go then,” Jon nods as he motions for the door, “and be on your guard…they’ll be out there somewhere.”

Theon nods as he gets to his feet, determination in his step. He wouldn’t fail Jon again. Bran’s eyes watch him go, he can feel them burning into his back. The younger boy hated him and he knew it , and he couldn’t blame him for it either.

 _He_ hated himself sometimes too.

 

* * *

 

               When Theon was gone, Jon turned his gaze back towards Bran, “Where’s Sansa?”

“At the Winter fortress,” Bran tells him quietly, “Surrounded by an army of the undead and more white walkers then any one man could face alone. Jon it’s impossible…you’d never make it to her.”

“I have to try,” Jon sighs as he drops down onto a boulder that was bent out away from the wall, “I owe her that at the very least. She’s our sister Bran. You don’t know what Ramsay’s done to her….you don’t know the things that Theon told me about her.”

Bran frowns, “Ramsay….Ramsay _Snow_?”

“Ramsay Bolton more like now,” Jon scowls at the floor, “The Bastard Bolton is no longer a bastard at all. Roose Bolton legalized him. He’s taken Winterfell.”

Bran sighs, his gaze shifting towards Hodor before he looks back at Jon, “Jon…go find Sansa…get her home. It’s not safe for her here…I’m safe enough but she isn’t. Those things can’t come in here; the wards will keep them out.”

Jon nods wearily, “I need to know how to get there Bran,” he tugs on his gloves, the worn black leather tight on his fingers, “We’ve tried on our own but it’s impossible.”

“You never will _get there_ ,” Leaf tells him, “Not if the Night’s King doesn’t want you to.”

“Then I’ll just have to motivate him,” Jon tells Leaf, a glitter of steel in his eyes.

 


	14. A Frozen Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

She stared at her hands, cold and smooth as marble in the dim gray light of morning. Sitting in her solar, the icy wind in her face she marvels at the music she hears on the wind. Whatever she was, it wasn’t done yet. She could still feel the pulse of blood in her veins though her skin was ice cold. Her heart beat but it was different now, it beat beneath her breast to a different rhythm. Her blood was ice water, her skin was marble, and her hair was a glowing flame against her vivid cerulean gaze. When Rhaegar saw her as she was, there was a look of pure disappointment and even greater anger. That anger wasn’t directed at her though; it was a sour outrage towards Eindride, and towards his Father. Sansa Stark wasn’t as she was before, her heart was cold but it burned hot with love.

Ergor was pleased, it was the first time that man had ever smiled at her.

She knew of course, why he was smiling. It wasn’t just that his son had found a wife; it was that the key to breaching the wall was his at last. There was an ache low in her belly; it made her nervous and edgy. What she was doing was a betrayal of everything that she had been, of everything that she was raised to be. What of Bran and Rickon? She knew Bran was somewhere out there, living beneath a giant tree. She’d seen Bran but what of Rickon? Was Rickon even with him? Debating this, she wondered if Eindride would let her go back to the tree. He didn’t care for her going beyond the gate without him, none of the women were allowed too, it was for their own safety.

“ _Where is she_?” Sansa starts at the sound, an angry musical voice out in the hall beyond her bed chamber door. “I want to see this usurper who stole my chosen from me!”

“Ezera _please_ ,” Irseka murmurs softly, “Have shame. You behave insolently, what’s done is done. She is his chosen now.”

“ _I_ was his chosen Irseka,” Ezera snarls angrily, “I have been his chosen for _years_. I will not be set aside for some human filth! That _bitch_ is never going to make it to the gathering!”

The door to her chambers bangs open with a resounding _crack_. Sansa has just enough time to get to her feet and turn before Ezera bursts into her solar, a cool venomous expression on her face. Ezera was a tall gaunt woman with pale skin and silver hair that was pulled back into a tight pony tail, twisted with braids along her scalp. She wore the black leather armor that was much similar to Eindride’s, and there was a sword similar to his strapped to her waist.  “So you are the one they call _fire_.” She sneers the name, her eyes full of disgust as she takes in Sansa’s appearance. “I see not why _my_ chosen would turn his back on me for the likes of _you_.”

“ _Your_ chosen?” Sansa frowns at her, trying to work the words around in her head. In the ice language, chosen meant many things. When referenced to a person, it implied a mate...a _husband_. Sansa lets in a sharp intake of breath; it feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. Had Eindride set another woman aside so he could wed her?

“Yes,” Ezera tells her sourly, glowering hotly at her. “ _My_ chosen.”

Irseka chooses this moment to raise her eyes, glaring at Ezera’s back before she looks at Sansa, “They were not wed but…what do the humans call it? _Betrothed_.”

“He cast me aside for you,” Ezera sneers at her angrily. There was humiliation in her eyes, the burn of rejection. Sansa immediately felt guilty, a quiet horror of her own building in her chest.  How much had Eindride been keeping from her? “Why would he want such a delicate little flower?” Ezera says, circling Sansa like a wolf circles prey, picking at her auburn hair and prodding at the delicate silk brocade of her gown, “you are no warrior. You are human and fragile; you are an _embarrassment_ to our kind. What woman of the ice cowers in the corner and lets the men fight for her?”

Behind her, Irseka scowls darkly at Ezera’s back. “I do not wield a sword; does that make _me_ a coward?”

“Of course not,” Ezera whirls on Irseka, looking betrayed by her friend’s sudden reprimand, “But she is a human. She isn’t worthy of our blood or our power.”

“ _She_ is of the ice now,” Irseka tells Ezera firmly, “and she is Eindride’s chosen, you will respect her.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Sansa says coldly, having had enough of the vindictive nature of people. She has suffered this enough at the hands of jealousy and envy back in Westeros; she would not suffer it here. She would not let Ezera taint the beauty around her with her cold jealousy and her hatred. “ _I_ am Eindride’s chosen now. You _will_ leave me in peace, _now_.”

“ _How dare you_ \---…” Ezera cuts off mid-sentence and suddenly drops her gaze to the floor. Behind Sansa, she turns to see Tesha whose cold glare could freeze a person in place. Thankfully that gaze was not on her, but on Ezera.

“You were spurned and you know why Ezera,” Tesha says icily, daring Ezera to rebuke her, “You were unworthy of his affections the moment you chose power over love. I will never see the likes of such a woman at my son’s side. Now get out.”

At her side, Ezera’s fists clench tightly. Sansa notes the sharp looking nails on her finger tips and can’t help but look at her own slender hands, wondering if she would ever come to have such dangerous looking nails. They looked to be sharper then steel and just as deadly. Eindride had something similar, though he kept his at a shorter length but no less sharp. Slowly Ezera lifts her burning gaze towards Sansa before looking at Tesha. With an indignant huff and a snarl of threat in Sansa’s direction she leaves, glowering at the floor rather than spit venom at the woman who scolded her. When she’s gone, Irseka follows along after her, smiling apologetically towards Sansa and Tesha as she goes.

“I’m sorry about that,” Tesha says as the bed chamber door closes and they are alone, “Ezera has always been willful. I did not expect her to openly threaten you like that however, she knows the laws.” Pausing she regards Sansa thoughtfully, “did she hurt you?”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, willing her hands not to shake. Ezera had startled her, she was forceful and angry. It was a drastic change from the peace she’d been living with here for so long. She wasn’t a fool though; she knew that there had to be some kind of upset about her presence here. She wasn’t parry to it for a number of reasons, most of which involved her lack of skill in their language up until now.

“Clever girl,” Tesha scowls as she looks away from Sansa, “she comes to lance you with her words rather than her sword. Should she harm you I would have gladly had her executed…she’s stolen a delightful afternoon from me.”

Sansa could not understand why exactly that would have been delightful to Tesha, but she didn’t dare ask either.

“By the by,” Tesha sighs heavily, “That girl was harder to pry off my son then a _skezmis_ from its _pfejo_.”

She had no idea what either of those two things were, so Sansa held her silence.

Tesha turns her gaze back to Sansa, eyeing her critically, “What did you make of her?”

“She’s very forceful,” Sansa says quietly.

“Yes,” Tesha nods, “a rare creature for sure. Our women are not allowed to fight in battle; we are too few to risk such a thing. Though she wields a blade and wears armor she isn’t allowed beyond the Ice gate either. She is allowed to defend its walls however, from within the safety of the keep. Ergor wouldn’t deny any woman the chance to fight so long as they remained within these walls.” Tesha takes a seat, delighting herself in one of the tiny sandwiches that Mariska had brought her a while ago. Sansa could hardly eat one, the food tasted foul to her. “I know you must have questions. Eindride planned to warn you long before Ezera ever made an appearance but plans have clearly changed. You see, they grew up together. They’ve been bonded to each other for years but never made a clear commitment. Ezera wasn’t interested in marriage just yet, she was too wild…Ezera enjoyed her freedom while Eindride longed to take her wife.  Over the years they grew apart, my son began to realize his mate loved his Father’s power more than she loved him. He decided to break it off with her, but I knew not when. I had a feeling it would be soon, and then when he brought you home I knew he’d already done it. Mind you,” Tesha smiles faintly, “I had no idea he’d failed to tell Ezera about you.”

“He should have told _me_ of _her_ ,” Sansa scowls with her back turned to Tesha, “It isn’t _right_. They were practically _married_.”

“Not officially,” Tesha tells her, “Until you go before the gathering, the marriage can be broken. It’s like being betrothed except you are free to mate whenever you will without fear of reprisal. I know in Westeros that is considered inappropriate. Here however, your mate is whoever you decide is your mate, and when you go before the gathering to recognize it, then you’re properly married.”

“So she wanted him only for his Father’s armies?” Sansa frowns, “that’s awful.”

“True,” Tesha agrees, “why do you think I wanted her away from my son? I knew she never loved him, I could see what she really loved.” Tesha scowls at her folded hands, looking quietly angry, “I thought them a good match until recent years. She was a warrior like Eindride, fast and swift and brave. I thought they would give me beautiful grandchildren. Then I began to realize what she really wanted, her eyes were always on Ergor’s armies and his power. She probably hoped to have all that to herself one day when Ergor handed everything over to Eindride.”

“Well I can assure you I’m not interested in Ergor’s armies,” Sansa replies as she sits beside Tesha, picking at one of the sandwiches with a look of mild disgust.

“Don’t bother,” Tesha sighs, “Your appetite will slowly wither away over time. You won’t find any of this rubbish appetizing at all.”

Sansa nods, pushing the plate away with a grimace. Food just didn’t interest her like it did before.

 

* * *

 

               Later that evening, Sansa doesn’t wait for Eindride; she goes in search of him herself. She had no fear of the creatures that lived here now; she was becoming one of them. She finds Eindride in his bed chambers, a place she’s never seen before but knew where it was. It would have been inappropriate at any other time for her to be in them, but considering their circumstances she figured he wouldn’t mind.

“Hiding from me are you?” Sansa asks, standing in the doorway while she watches her betrothed clean his sword, the soft rag in his hand smoothing away the dirt and polishing the cold ice to a brilliant shine.

“No,” he says as he looks up at her, “My chosen I would not hide from you.”

“But you’d hide from Ezera,” Sansa scowls, watching his expression change from pleasure to weariness.

“Did she bother you?” He asks with a frown, “Did she hurt you?”

“No,” Sansa swallows thickly as she steps further into the room, “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

He smiles wanly, setting his sword aside on his bed, “Ezera and I are old friends. We were each other’s chosen. I wanted to take her before the gathering and claim her but she refused me many times. I knew she’d come around eventually though.” He smiles faintly at the memory, “but I’m glad she refused me…over time I began to understand that she wanted my power more than she wanted my love.” He raises his cerulean gaze to her as she walks towards him, sitting down beside him on his bed. “I am also grateful she refused me for I found my true chosen,” he says as he takes her hands and kisses her knuckles lightly, “My fire.”

“My ice,” Sansa smiles faintly at the thought, “I hadn’t realized your name literally meant _Ice_.”

“We are a good match are we not?” he grins wryly at her, “We are well balanced.”

“You should have told me of her sooner,” Sansa scolds him lightly after a long while; “she accused me of horrible things.”

“Like?” Eindride asks, quirking a brow, his tone suddenly full of anger, “My chosen if she _threatened_ you…”

“She hasn’t threatened me,” Sansa tells him softly, “though I think she did at one point swear to keep me from going to the gathering.” Sansa chuckles a little bit at the thought, “she was really very angry. I think she was humiliated.”

“It is a great dishonor to be set aside after bonding,” he nods as he stares at his hands, “I did not want to bring such a humiliation upon her but she left me no choice. I did not want to be bound to a woman who was never truly bonded to me. As for her threats…” he frowns, his eyes glittering blue-white with anger, “I will see her executed for treason if she tries to hinder you in any way.”

Sansa sighs heavily. “I don’t want to make enemies here Eindride…Ezera has many friends, including Irseka who also happens to be _my_ friend. I don’t want her to hate me because I got her friend killed.”

He nods, standing to untie his jerkin and leave it by the hearth, Sansa watching quietly in the background. Although they were lovers it still made her blush to watch him change. He did not hide his body from her gaze, in his culture they did not hide themselves because they belonged to one another. Sansa had struggled with this concept, especially when she was trying to get dressed. He didn’t like it when she hid her body from him, and would pull her hands away from her body, kissing her bare skin until she flushed pink with need.  He made her feel beautiful.

“Will you sleep with me here?” he asks, turning to look at her. His pale body was bathed in the blue white flame of the hearth, his silver hair long and free down his back. He was a beautiful creature to behold.

“I will if you wish it of me,” Sansa says softly, unable to fight the flush of shyness beneath her skin. This was different than being married to Tyrion or Ramsay, this was a proper marriage. She found herself searching back to the days when her Mother would teach her of how to be a good wife to her husband. Sansa endeavored to do so for Eindride, she liked to make him happy.

“I would always wish it my chosen,” he murmurs, stepping towards the bed and leaning close with his hands resting on either side of her hips on the bed. He kisses her then, slow and sensual and full of passion. It undoes her as always, and she melts into his arms and gives herself over to his touch.

 

* * *

 

               She spends the next few days preparing for the gathering. Tesha is keen to show her off, she had a vindictive nature about her, Sansa noticed. She wanted more than anything to rub Ezera’s face in it and Sansa thinks it’s because Ezera had not only disappointed Tesha, she hurt her too. She’d trusted her with her only son and repaid Tesha with greed and disloyalty.

“The dark blue I think,” Tesha tells Sansa thoughtfully, “the gown Eindride brought you the first night you came here. It brings out your hair and eyes wonderfully.”

Sansa couldn’t help but agree, the gown was lovely and comfortable.  It was her favorite too, because Eindride had brought it to her as a gift.  He’d used magic to turn the beaded embroidery along the collar and sleeves from dark blue to white, making it look like swirling snow patterns along the material.

“And the pearl clip for her hair to match,” Irseka comments, walking across the room to hold the tiny clip up against Sansa’s hair with a smile, “It’ll perfect.”

“Excellent choice Irseka,” Tesha agrees with a smile of her own.

“Will Ezera be there?” Sansa asks quietly after a long while.

“Yes,” Tesha tells her, “all who are of the ice are welcome, it is our way. We are a unified people, regardless of our differences. I won’t lie to you and say they’ll all welcome you with open arms, Ezera has many friends. They know what she did though, Eindride made that very clear before his Father.”

Sansa nods, staring at her clasped hands as she paces the room. Eindride was out on a range for the day, she was left to her own devices here in the keep. “What of Aodhfin?”

Tesha scowls at the sound of his name, “My son wishes him thrown out. Why do you think he was so quick to claim you? He thinks Aodhfin plots against you, he wanted you safe. If you were protected by my son’s claim the laws would forbid Aodhfin from harming you. If he tries anything, it will mean his death.”

“You understand why he thinks that don’t you?” Sansa asks her, glancing in Tesha’s direction, “It’s because I’m a Stark.”

“Yes,” Tesha smiles faintly, “what good luck my husband has. You’ve come to us just when we needed you most.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Sansa says, barely above a whisper as she stares at her hands, wringing her fingers together nervously, “I have enemies beyond the wall but there are innocent men and women too…their _children_ …”

“I long wared with myself over the same thing,” Tesha says quietly, regarding the younger woman thoughtfully, “It is difficult, choosing love or duty. You cannot have both Sansa, you must choose. Sacrifice love for duty, or duty for love. In the end I chose love because what did duty ever get me? War and violence…an abusive brother who murdered my Father and stole his throne. Courtiers who slandered my name every chance they got, accusing me of incest between my brother and I. He never touched me, he might have beaten me a time or two but that’s because deep down he feared me. I had a stronger claim to the throne then he did, I was the daughter of our Father’s first wife. So he belittled me and slandered my name to ensure nobody would ever stand with me to take back my Father’s throne.” Tesha smiles darkly at the memory, “Imagine the look of surprise on my brother’s face when I returned with an army of the undead and the Night’s King as my husband.”

“Is there a way I can compromise with Ergor?” Sansa asks thoughtfully, “can I reason with him? Can we make some kind of agreement? I don’t want the North harmed…they are my people.”

Tesha raises her both eyebrows as she regards Sansa, “you wish him to leave the North untouched? How can he do that pray tell? If he tries to overlook it, those in the North will rise in defense of the people being overrun in the south. Do you believe that any Northerner worth his salt would honestly not lift his sword to defend an innocent southerner? Would they stand by and watch it happen?”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa scowls at the floor, bitter for Tesha’s sound logic. Sansa wanted to believe there was a chance she could be with the one she loves and still protect the North.

“Then how would you reason with him?” Tesha asks, quirking a brow.

“Leave Winterfell untouched,” Sansa says softly, “leave any who remain inside unharmed.”

Tesha nods thoughtfully, “that could work…until they came out in droves to fend us off. My husband might agree to leave any who remain indoors unharmed, but he won’t stand by and allow his people to be slaughtered because you asked them not to kill any Northerners.” Tesha grins a little, watching the younger woman pace, “The girl who claimed duty and love. That’s who you are. You’ll fight to keep both till your last breath won’t you?” She nods with a little smile, “My son has chosen well this time I think.”

“ _Why_ must there be a war?” Sansa presses, frowning at Tesha, “why must he go south at all?”

“Because the humans on the other side of that wall don’t own that land, they stole it. As I said, haven’t you noticed that the children haven’t lifted a finger to stop Ergor? They may not particularly like us, or us them…but they’ll gladly step aside if it means they’ll get their home back. We have strength of numbers they do not.”

Sansa taps her chin thoughtfully, debating what to say next, “So what of a compromise? We share the land.”

“Impossible,” Tesha sighs heavily as she regards her, “Sansa if you want to save the North you need to be more _convincing_. You won’t just be convincing Ergor, you’ll have to convince the whole of our kin. Everyone has a voice in the gathering, even you now.”

“Why can’t we share the land?” Sansa presses.

“We tried that,” Tesha tells her, “The humans grew too immense in number, they needed more room. We were eventually pushed out completely.”

“But you don’t even need Westeros,” Sansa tells her pointedly, “you have the whole of the bloody _northern coast_!”

“That we share with wildlings, wild animals and the occasional forest child. Nothing here _belongs_ entirely to us no matter how hard we try. Most creatures can’t abide in the temperatures we need to survive. Ergor grows tired of being made to share his kingdom with humans and forest children. This is our kingdom, our land.”

“I thought your kind didn’t _believe_ in owning land,” Sansa narrows her eyes at Tesha.

“It won’t just be _our_ land,” Tesha counters, “It will belong to all who live in it. All our kin will own it, we won’t bicker over what patch of grass belongs to whom like the humans do.”

Sansa huffs and turns away, frustrated. Reasoning with the winter children was like arguing with a stone wall. They would never budge on their judgements upon the human race. Tesha watches her quietly, amused by the other woman’s tenacity. Sansa Stark would forever struggle to balance duty and love together, refusing to yield either. Tesha pitied her in that aspect, for she would always find the struggle of it. Balancing the two together would weigh heavy on her heart.

 

* * *

 

               That evening, supper was beef stew but Sansa could scarcely eat a bite. She stared at it with dull interest before pushing the bowl away with a sigh. Aodhfin looks up curiously at her, seated with her at the same table. They were eating together, Sansa with Aodhfin, Mariska and Hrelena. Aodhfin had asked her to come, they’d been too long without words between each other.

“I’m not hungry,” Sansa says at the curious look on their faces.

“You need to eat something,” Aodhfin says quietly watching her, “I know the ice in your belly burns away your appetite but you’re still partly human.”

“Anything I eat tastes rotten,” Sansa tells him with a frown, “why are you still wearing that?” Sansa asks, nodding towards the dragon tooth about his neck.

“This is who I am here,” he shrugs, “I can’t take it off; I’m supposed to be in hiding. It doesn’t matter if you’ve worked out how I really am.”

Sansa stares at the grain of the table thoughtfully for a long while before she says, “I think Eindride wants to throw you out.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Aodhfin shrugs as he eats, “That bitch Ezera’s already got rumors spreading that you and I are secret lovers.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Sansa grimaces at his words, “Talk normal.”

“I am _talking normal_ ,” he scowls at her, “How the fuck do you expect me to talk?”

“Like _Rhaegar_ ,” Sansa scowls at him angrily, “Like a prince…talk to me with a little decency will you?”

“And what’s wrong with the way he talks?” Mariska scowls at her irritably, “I talk nice don’t I? Is it because we’re wildlings?”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa says quickly, realizing her folly, “I didn’t mean it like that Mariska. I just get tired of hearing such language with every other word out of his mouth.”

“Well excuse me _your highness_ ,” Mariska rolls her eyes, “who spit in your stew this morning?”

Abruptly she stands and leaves, glowering at the floor as she walks. Behind her she can hear Aodhfin curse, the scrap of a chair against the floor as he follows her out. She makes it as far as the corridor before he catches her, his arm snaking around her elbow to halt her progress. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, yanking the tooth off from around his neck, “You understand why I have to keep up appearances.”

“I know,” Sansa stares at her feet instead of at him, “I’m sorry too…I’m being awful to you.”

“What’s upset you?” he asks, the two of them sitting down in an alcove, watching the snow dance in spirals across the floor as the wind howls through the halls lightly.

“I long to have both duty and love,” Sansa sighs, “I try to balance both but one or the other is always toppling to the side.”

“And now you face the predicament I met when I fell in love with your Aunt,” he sighs as he leans his head back against the icy stone column and closes his eyes, “You can’t have both Sansa; I learned that the hard way…don’t make my mistakes.”

“There had to have been a way out for you and Lyanna,” Sansa tells him thoughtfully, staring at her folded hands, “There must be a way out for Eindride and I.”

“You cannot marry him Sansa,” Rhaegar says, his eyes popping open to look at her. His lilac gaze was bright in the moonlight, “such a marriage would destroy Westeros.”

“It’s a little late to nay say me Rhaegar,” Sansa smiles wanly, “I am his and he is mine.”

“Not till the gathering,” he tells her quietly, “your bonding is only temporary until recognized by the whole of your kin.” He pauses, a frown marring his handsome features. He takes her folded hands gently in his, catching her gaze with his, “You can still turn back Sansa. You are still partly human…the farther from him you are the faster his magic will fade from you. Only his Father can change you instantaneously.”

“ _Rhaegar_ ,” Sansa grounds out quietly, a mixture of frustration and despair, “why can’t you just accept that I love him? Why can’t you just let me be _happy_?”

He sighs, falling silent. Gently he pulls her beneath the crook of his arm and she leans her head on his shoulder, only now realizing the tears that slid down her cheeks. They freeze long before they reach her chin, and Sansa has to wipe the away to break the ice that forms on her skin.

“Because sometimes I wish someone had been there to tell me the things I tell you now,” He answers softly, pressing a kiss to her temple, “I know it hurts, but sometimes duty requires sacrifice.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Sansa scowls against the rough linen of his tunic, “you abandoned duty for love.”

“And it destroyed my family and half the kingdom with it,” he sighs softly, “I just wanted to save you from that.”

“But if I do this right I can balance both,” Sansa says earnestly, “I can keep my love and honor my duty both.”

Rhaegar smiles into her hair, “I wish I had that kind of courage.”

“You had it at one point,” Sansa points out, “you were said to have been very brave.”

“Brave enough to steal away with the woman I love,” he agrees, “brave enough to kill anyone who tried to force us apart. I wouldn’t let anything come between us…” he sighs, “and that bravery cost me a great deal…including your Aunt.”

Sansa stills against him, a quiet horror in her belly, “I won’t lose Eindride.”

“I certainly wouldn’t wish it upon you,” he answers softly; “I wouldn’t wish that fate upon anyone.”

 

* * *

 

               He’s different with her after that. When they were alone he’d take off the dragon tooth about his neck and simply be Rhaegar with her. She preferred it over the grouse wildling he pretended to be. Every time she looked at him as Aodhfin she felt like she looked upon a fraud, beneath that man was a prince who hid his face because of shame.

               Sansa spends her days in the library or walking with Tesha along the cavern halls, familiarizing herself with the inner workings of the keep. Tesha felt it necessary, she wanted Sansa to be fully accustomed to the winter children and how they lived. She wanted no one to doubt her future daughter in law.

“Oh _look_ ,” Ezera smiles nastily, Sansa jerking to a stop when the sight of silver flashes out in front of her. Sansa stares at the sharpened ice of her sword and then shifts her gaze towards Ezera. “Move, _now_.”

“I’m guardian of the great hall,” Ezera tips her chin up defiantly, “and you are only a guest. I don’t have to obey you.”

“Ezera I’m not going to play games with you,” Sansa narrows her gaze at the other woman, “what’s done is done. I love Eindride, he loves me. If you ever loved him at all, you’ll let him go and let him be happy.”

“And _how_ will he be happy with you?” Ezera snarls at her angrily, tipping the blade up beneath Sansa’s chin. Sansa lets in a sharp intake of breath, easing away from the sharpened tip. Eindride can never know about this or he’ll kill Ezera. “Will you be willing to abandon your old life in favor of this one? Will you be willing when Ergorathe asks you to break the wall?”

“Ezera enough of this,” Sansa says softly, trying to keep her voice calm, “You know this is treason…let me pass.”

Ezera smiles nastily, tipping the blade point harder against her skin, “You’d shatter like crystals across the floor and I’d sweep you up beneath a rug. Nobody’d ever find you,” she hisses, wickedness glittering in her eyes, “and I’m the guardian of this hall…and I refuse to allow dirty human filth like you walk within it, polluting it with your human _stench_.”

“On behalf of my son,” Tesha’s voice purrs coldly near Ezera’s ear, the other one suddenly going stiff as a blade, her mouth agape in shock, “I will end you. Lower your blade _now_.” Sansa steps away from the two women, wondering where Tesha had even come from. Neither woman had seen her even move; they had been quite alone in the corridor.  As Ezera lowers her blade and turns, she sees the gleam of dragon glass in Tesha’s hand, “Not many things can destroy us quite like dragon glass,” Tesha remarks, holding it up the light for both women to see, “I would glad cut your throat open with it should you test me Ezera.”

Ezera snorts derisively and shoves past Sansa, glowering at her darkly, “You will never be worthy of him and one day he’ll grow tired of you and realize that,” she scowls at the other woman before disappearing down a corridor.

“Spiteful bitch isn’t she?” Tesha sighs as she watches Ezera go, “Damn I was hoping she’d put up a fight…I sincerely wanted to kill her…oh well,” Tesha shrugs and motions for Sansa to follow, “Let’s get you back up to your chambers, I think we’ve wandered quite enough for one day don’t you?”

 

* * *

 

               Years ago when Jon Snow was just a lad, if you’d told him he would one day be Lord Commander of the Night’s watch leading a band of brothers from the wall on a mission to rescue the Last Stark with only a poorly drawn map made by the children of the forest and two direwolves, he’d have laughed in their faces.

Now he’s not so sure.

His plan was poor but he hoped Ergorathe would agree to it. To trade himself for Sansa, he thought might work. He’d become a thorn in Ergor’s side and he hoped his ire would cause him to accept the trade. There was the fact that he was leading his men right to where the white walkers lived, and all of them accepted that danger with open arms and willing hearts. They all took their duty seriously, although it didn’t mean they weren’t scared out of their minds about it. Overhead a raven circles, Bran’s only means to go with them. He wanted to go through Hodor but Jon wouldn’t allow it. Hodor was Bran’s only means of getting back to the wall if things went wrong. That and the situation was dangerous, it wasn’t right to risk Hodor’s life like that.

Willis.

He had to keep correcting himself; he’d been calling him Hodor for as long as he could remember. His name was Willis though, and once he could talk and smile and laugh and play just like every other person. He wondered what had happened to poor Hodor to make him this way. Hodor would never tell though, no matter how Bran tried to get him to talk. He was glad to be away from that dark and dreary place beneath the tree. It put Jon at unease being there, the crunch of bones beneath his feet and the smell of damp and mold at his nose. It looked more like the home of a wild animal then the wild and innocent children of the forest in the stories that Nan used to tell him as a boy. It made him worry to leave Bran with them alone. He longed to return and take Bran back to the wall once they had Sansa, something he figured he might just do regardless of what Bran wanted. Those creatures could be cannibals for all he knew, and those bones beneath his feet were the bones of wildlings that had strayed too close to the tree.

Behind him, his men are breaking for lunch. Leaf had given them food to take with them, odd things that Jon was weary to eat. He couldn’t look at it without picturing it the meat off some poor man’s belly. He’d stopped Theon from eating it too, Theon had been thinking along the same lines as he. The rest of his men were starved however, and would have probably eaten rocks and dirt if you’d have put it in front of them. Either way Jon thought he might be paranoid and the meat was fine, but he couldn’t quite sort out what it was exactly.

“Taste like beaver,” Edd comments while he chews thoughtfully.

“And what would _you_ know about how beaver tastes like?” Henry chuckles lightly, “Not like the women down in Mole’s Town fancy an ugly fuck like you.”

“Oh _shut it_!” Edd smacks his arm with a laugh playfully.

“I think its otter,” another says, “It’s kind of rough like otter. I ate that once, when I was down by the Iron Isles. The Greyjoys served it up like a delicacy.”

“It’s an old recipe,” Theon says quietly, staring at his plate, “and this isn’t otter. I’d know, I’m a Greyjoy.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” Henry scowls at his plate, looking up at Jon, “are we eating some kind of weird tree root or something? Jon I’m willing to accept white walkers and children of the forest but I sure as fuck ain’t going to be eating tree roots and slugs with them.”

“Then go hungry,” Theon scowls at Henry darkly, “you ungrateful shit.”

“Oi,” Henry glowers, “fuck you Greyjoy. Mind you, it’s not like you could do much of that anyways eh?”

Theon lunges abruptly and Jon darts a hand out to grab his shoulder and force him back down onto his seat. “Enough,” Jon says firmly, glaring at both men, “Henry shut your gob and eat your lunch. If you don’t like it, _starve_.”

That shut him up.

Jon turns away, glowering at the horizon. His half-sister was out there somewhere and they were arguing over food.  With a sigh he rolls the map up and glances back at his men, “Pack up, we need to get moving.”

 

* * *

 

               She didn’t feel the ice in the wind anymore. She wore a gown of layered black silk, her shoulders bare. The cold didn’t affect her in the slightest, and this she was grateful for. It was nice not to have to layer up just to get out of bed in the morning. It was late in the afternoon and she’d spent the day reading. It was a common occurrence seeing as she wasn’t allowed beyond the ice gate and they didn’t have much of a courtyard here. She’d have to climb over a hundred stairs just to get to the top of this gigantic block of ice to reach the top where they’d carved out a garden of sorts.  Outside she can hear the noise of shuffling feet, the howl of the icy wind and the clang of swords in the sparring yard. She walks out into the solar and stands by the window, watching Eindride practice. It was one of her favorite things to do admittedly. The way he moves was ethereal, otherworldly. His sword was nothing more than a flash of ice and silver swinging in the dim gray light beneath a cloudy sky. The snow was falling in gentle sheets, spreading across the ground. It didn’t bother him though, even when it caught in his hair and hoarfrost gathered on his face.  The ice never bothered her either; she could understand now how when it caught on their skin they hardly noticed.

               Once when she’d been on the roof top she’d gone to touch the icy railing and heard an odd cracking sound, only to realize the ice had gathered on her arms and in her hair. It was the most bizarre feeling, to watch it crack and fall from her skin when she moved. She wondered how long she’d been standing there, staring off into the distance. She must have stood there a while to allow that to happen. Below, she turns her gaze to the hoard of undead either standing idly by or slumped in piles of rotting corpses merely waiting to be risen for war. There was no sense in keeping them animated when they weren’t in use, and even if they were buried in the snow they could easily dig themselves out again. Something about the magic made them violent and energetic in their efforts, it frightened Sansa.

One of them in particular catches her eye.

It makes her heart mourn to see him out there, standing with glassy blue glowing eyes, the black fur of his cloak fluttering in the breeze. “Oh Uncle Benjen,” Sansa murmurs sadly, watching him. She wanted to ask Eindride to remove him from the army, to release him. It was a nasty shock to see him out there, and she’d been watching him off and on for days now. She barely recognized him now, snow and ice had gathered on his face and body. His eyes glowed blue like fire in his gaunt pale face, his body was slowly rotting away in the ice.

“ _What did you say_?” Rhaegar’s voice now from somewhere behind her. She’d hardly noticed him come in.

“Uncle Benjen,” Sansa points down at the corpse below, “that’s my Uncle…he went missing years ago.”

“Oh no,” Rhaegar says, stepping up beside her to look, “Well that isn’t good.”

“No it isn’t,” Sansa agrees quietly, “I wanted to ask Eindride to release him.”

“No,” Rhaegar says quickly, “I’ll get rid of him. I don’t want Ergor to know about him. He’s another Stark, and a Stark that’s been right under his nose the entire time. If he’d known your Uncle was a Stark right in the beginning they’d have breached the wall years ago.”

“What do you mean you’ll get rid of him?” Sansa asks frantically, chasing after Rhaegar as he turns for the hall.

“I’ll burn body,” Rhaegar promises her softly, “I’ll make sure he gets a proper funeral.”

 

* * *

 

               That evening she sits in Eindride’s room, their bodies bare in the cold light of the hearth. He’s combing her hair, braiding it in a long thick rope down her back before tying it off with a leather strip. Sansa was content and sluggish; their earlier lovemaking made her drowsy and relaxed. They switch positions and she does the same for him, though she leaves his long silver hair loose to dry. She likes to comb it out, watch the way the snow crystals in his hair shimmer in the firelight.

“You’re very quiet,” he notes as she works.

“My Uncle,” Sansa says after a long while, “he was outside with the army today.”

Eindride frowns, twisting around to look at her, “You had an Uncle out there?”

“I did,” Sansa says quietly, “don’t be angry…I was so upset about it. Rhaegar went out and destroyed the body for me. He brought back my Uncle’s medallion and his sword. I want them to go to Bran or Rickon one day….I would have given them to Jon but he’s dead.”

“Jon?” Eindride asks as they lie down side by side, facing each other. He slides his fingers along her cheek and down her jaw, and then traces patterns along her bare arm down her hip, his bright gaze watching his fingers move, “who is Jon?”

“Jon’s my half-brother,” Sansa tells him, pressing closer to him so she can slide her lips along his throat, “he’s my Father’s bastard….we don’t know who his Mother was.”

“Bastard?” Eindride frowns, the word doesn’t translate well in his language. He didn’t quite understand what that meant because bastards among his people were an unheard of concept. They did not believe in the tie of bloodlines as the people of Westeros do, “what is a…. _bastard_?”

“A child born out of wedlock,” Sansa explains softly, “In Westeros…my people have to get married in the sept before they can lie together.”

Eindride frowns, raising his gaze to hers, “Do you believe in such notions?”

“I do,” Sansa says softly, “Or I did at least.”

“Do you wish…” he frowns thoughtfully, debating his words, “Would you have us wed in the way of your people?”

“I want to wed in the way of yours,” Sansa smiles, kissing the tip of his nose, “I’m happy here.” She also could imagine the look of terror on the septon’s face. The wedding wouldn’t go very well for either of them if they tried it.

They lie there like that for a long while until finally he says, “Aodhfin has no right to burn our soldiers.”

“He was my _Uncle_ ,” Sansa says softly against the bare skin of his chest, “he was _family_ ….I was distraught. I’m sorry.”

“I would have released him had you asked,” Eindride murmurs into her hair, his hands sliding down to cup her breast and squeeze lightly, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger, “I would have burned the whole army had you asked it of me,” he murmurs, his lips catching the same nipple and tugging lightly with his teeth. She gasps, lying back against the furs as his fingers and mouth played along her body.

               Afterwards, she lies partially across him, her head on his chest as she listens to his heavy breathing. She enjoyed these long nights with him, where they would talk about everything and kiss in the darkness.

“I will forgo punishment of Aodhfin,” he says softly to her, stroking his fingers through her hair, “if it please you.”

“It does,” she agrees, “He did a kindness for me. I meant to ask you later but I was upset and he wanted to resolve it right then.”

Eindride nods quietly, as if resentful of Aodhfin but at the same time pleased with his actions. Sansa ponders her next words, debating on how to say them, “I want to speak at the gathering about forgoing the war.”

Eindride blinks, turning his brilliant gaze down at her, “My Father would never hear of it.”

“I have a right to speak at the gathering,” Sansa lifts her head to look at him.

“Yes,” he agrees, “as my wife and one of our kin you have a voice in the matters of our people. It does not mean they will hear you out or agree to it. Too many of our kind despise the humans, to many crave war with them.”

“I don’t expect the whole war to stop,” Sansa says softly, “I just want the Northern lands untouched…Winterfell at the very least.”

“Why do you ask these things?” He frowns softly at her, “what troubles you?”

“I struggle with the idea of turning on innocent people,” Sansa says softly, “I have many enemies beyond the wall…but not all of them have done me wrong.”

“Do you wish to leave?” he frowns, his hand sliding along her lower back, holding her too him, “do you not wish me as your chosen anymore?”

“ _No_ ,” Sansa frowns as she looks up at him, meeting his earnest bright gaze, “I want you as my chosen. I will always want that Eindride. I also want to do what’s right by those beyond the wall who are innocent in the wrongs laid against me. I struggle to balance duty and love in equal measure.”

“You must not think to carry such weight alone,” he murmurs, kissing her lightly, “let me help you carry it.”

“How?” Sansa asks, looking up into his eyes.

“Let me speak with my Father,” he tells her thoughtfully, “perhaps between the two of us we can work out a compromise.”

“You would do that for me?” Sansa grins brightly, pulling him into her embrace and pressing soft kisses to his lips, “Oh _thank you_!”

“A wedding gift,” he says as he kisses her back, sliding his tongue along her sensually, “I would seek to please my beloved.”

 

* * *

 

There was trust growing in her heart for Rhaegar Targaryen. Sansa knew better than to trust him, she’s been burned to many times before. Yet she couldn’t help it, he was an amusing companion, he had so many stories to tell, he knew every poem she did and could recite them by heart. She could see why her Aunt fell in love with him now. At first she wanted nothing more than to clobber him over the head with Eindride’s sword, but now she was content to sit with him and discuss books and songs and hear his stories. In a way she imagined he was pleased to do it considering the wildlings he’d lived with so far weren’t interested in such things.

She’d found a good friend in Rhaegar Targaryen.

Tonight was the gathering; Sansa was working steadily to prepare for it. In a few hour’s time she would be officially Eindride’s wife before the eyes of his kin. She was currently smoothing the skirts of the deep blue woolen gown Eindride had gifted her months ago, her fingers sliding over the shimmering pearl beads embroidered into the collar and sleeves of the gown. It was a lovely thing, gliding around her feet like wisps of silk and dragging along on the ground behind her when she moved. The smooth expanse of pale skin revealed along the low dip of the neckline was something to get used to, but she liked it now. She also couldn’t help but notice the way her beloved’s eyes would follow her when she wore it. It brought a secret smile to her lips to think of his blazing molten blue gaze on her figure when she moved, secret promises of what was to come later when they were alone.

“Almost ready?” Mariska asks, smiling as she works at the hearth behind Sansa to get the fire lit.

“Almost,” Sansa agrees softly, “I’m nervous.”

“You should be,” Mariska agrees, “every white walker within a hundred mile radius will be here.”

 

* * *

 

               It didn’t help that evening, remembering Mariska’s words. She stood in a side hall fingering a goblet of wine, staring at its contents worriedly. Rhaegar had brought it to her when he saw the way she worried.

“It’s good,” he tells her, tapping his own goblet against hers, “it’ll help with your nerves. I remember the day I had to stand before the whole kingdom and announce the birth of my son Aegon…” he trails off, frowning thoughtfully as if he’d remembered something awful and stopped mid-thought.

Sansa touches his elbow lightly, smiling up at him, “It’s alright.”

He smiles faintly, patting her arm lightly, “Sometimes…” he sighs and shakes his head, “Never mind my own sorrows…we must cheer to your marriage.”

“Yes,” Sansa smiles, shaking the worry from her bones as they toast and drink the sweet summer wine he somehow produced. He tells her it was from his private stash that he’d carried with him for years. Summer wine was his favorite, he and Lyanna used to share it over meals. She paces the room, waiting for Eindride to come and fetch her. He had promised to come and bring her down to the gathering when it was time. Rhaegar watches her pace thoughtfully, his finger playing along the rim of his own goblet.

“Stop pacing Sansa,” he tells her softly, “you’ll worry a path into the floor.”

“I’m so nervous,” Sansa says quietly, “what if they don’t listen to me?”

“They’ll listen,” he smiles softly; “you command the attention of a room anywhere you go.”

Sansa blushes brightly, smiling shyly at him, “Oh stop it.”

“You do,” he raises his eyebrows, “Beautiful and intelligent and born to be a Queen.”

“Your buttering me up,” Sansa turns on him, cocking her head to one side, “why is that?”

He smiles faintly, “Guilt.”

“What?” Sansa frowns suddenly, the joy seeping out of her bones to be replaced by fear and concern, “What do you…” she is dizzy now, swaying on her feet. “Rhaegar….what have you done to me?” Sansa stares down into the goblet as she drops to her knees, unable to stand anymore, “Poison?” Sansa looks up at him, betrayal etched across her face.

“I’m sorry,” he frowns at her as she drops face first onto the floor, the goblet rolling away from her hand, the wine staining a bloody path across the icy floor.

“Goodnight,” Mariska says, sticking her head in the door to regard Sansa with a faint smirk before she looks up at Rhaegar, “Shall I fetch Ezera?”

“Yes,” he nods, “tell her it’s time.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dark where they crouch. Jon and a few of his men hide behind a snow bank, finding their way towards the icy ward that Ergorathe had put in place to keep intruders out. Leaf had told him all it would take to get the Night’s King’s attention would be a bit of his blood. Why his blood would be of interest to the white walkers, he had no idea.

“You ready for this?” Theon asks quietly from beside him, “These things are relentless.”

“Believe me,” Jon says in reply, “I know.”

“We’ve all seen it,” Edd says from behind Theon, “We’ve seen it firsthand how vicious they are.”

“I don’t like the idea of using your blood Jon,” Theon says to him, “I don’t understand why the children think it’ll get that creatures attention.”

“Neither do I,” Jon frowns thoughtfully. Everything the children have done for them was suspicious at best. He was definitely going to stop by and take Bran with them if they survived this and rescued Sansa. “Are we in position?”

“For what?” Edd looks at Jon critically, “They’ve got hundreds of those things in there somewhere,” Edd tells him, eying the wild blizzard in the distance that separates intruders from kin. “That thing looks deadly...”

“Don’t touch it,” Jon agrees, “Not till the King brings it down. Leaf told me it’d shred a man in seconds if we tried to cross into it.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Edd murmurs to himself as he watches the blizzard in awe and horror.

“Jon,” Theon says quietly, frowning as he spots something in the distance. There was a man on a horse with a woman thrown over the saddle.

“Not now Theon,” Jon says, sliding closer towards the blizzard, a dagger in his hand. All he needed to do was drop a bit of his blood into the snow and it should alert the King….

“Jon _really_ ,” Theon says pointedly, “Jon you should seriously see this…”

“Just hang on Theon,” Jon calls back, stretching his arm out cautiously once he’d sliced a tiny cut in his palm.

“ _Jon_ ,” Edd presses, his eyes catching the sight that Theon saw, “Does your half-sister have red hair?”

“Yes,” Jon frowns as he glances back, wondering how Edd knew that, “How did you know that?”

“Isn’t that her over there?” Edd nods, frowning at the sight before him.

When Jon looks, he spies a man on a horse passing out from beneath a wide icy boulder, clearly escaping through some kind of underground cavern. On his horse slumps a red haired woman, bound hands resting in her lap as he balances her between his arms and steers the horse beneath him.

 Jon jumps to his feet, panic ripping through him as an icy splinter of fear races down his spine, “ _Sansa_!”


End file.
